Episode 15: Genesis
by JPC
Summary: While Buffy and Spike finally work out their problems and finally get together, a new Big Bad sets his sights on them, as does an old acquaintance of Angel's investigating Warren's disappearance.
1. Mystery Woman

Three strands of my stories intersect here. Buffy's new Big Bad trains his forces and finally takes her on. Jonathan and Andrew face their destiny and interact with Buffy's as well as someone else's from Angel's past. And Spike and Buffy finally get together. Enjoy.

"Let the games begin!," Hendrik Hartog announced as he entered his underground headquarters.

"Our bosses were getting impatient, Henry," a serious-looking vampire in his early forties told Hartog.

"I AM the boss. What I think you mean, Douglas, is that YOU were getting impatient."

"Forgive me for liking our enemies as dead as possible as soon as possible."

"Except he was an enemy we could steal from."

"You know he hasn't had any useful breakthroughs in months."

"But I was the one who always believed in him. I knew his genius, and I wanted to give it the chance to flower. After all, his blood isn't all I've taken from him. How are the techies coming with the decryption?"

"It's not really an decryption matter. More of a scientific puzzle. His data is in pieces. Only someone with our training has a hope of putting it together."

"Then we shall do that. I look forward to the challenge. And I look forward to seeing if you are up to the challenge." They walked down the hall, passed rooms full of computers and lab equipment. The whole setup was very professional. The vampires weren't even lumpy. Mixed among the work rooms were three rec rooms: one with video games, one with billiards, ping-pong and fooseball tables, and one with a 50-inch flat-screen digital television with dvd and surround-sound. The only hints of the true nature of the operation came when Douglas and Hartog made a left at the end of the hall. They went past small arsenal rooms, a security room with monitors of the perimeter, and a training room where Pitt was teaching four vampires the finer points of hand-to-hand combat.

"You lads think you are immortals. You are vampyres, so you will live forever. Bollocks. BOLLOCKS! The average human lives for 75 years. How many vampyres do you know who have been around for 50 years? Hardly any, I bet. Coos there aren't many out thar. That's right. Most humans live longer than most vampires. How dare we call ourselves immortals! Out on the street, on your own, chances are none of you would last six months in this toon. And that is why you are here. Eternal life is not a right. It must be earned!

"I will teach you how to earn it. I will mold each and every one of you into warriors. Humans will cower at the mention of your name. Other vampires will follow you. You will be able to walk into any toon, any lair, and all the rest will fall in line behind you. They will forsake their former leaders, because they will see that you are A BREED APART. If that's not what you want, leave now. Get yar arses out of my soit. But if you want to be a warrior, if you want to be better than the rest, then step on up." Pitt took off his shirt and bounced around a little to limber up. He was narrow-shouldered, not particularly muscular, and without much muscle definition.

"Don't look so toof, do I? Try and take me. The four of you, together. Shouldn't be too hard, right? Cum on! What fun is an afternoon indoors without a little spot of violence? Shew me whut ya got." The four vamps looked at each other, shrugged, and smiled. Pitt was a real braggart. The sort of guy you want to put in his place. They went bumpy, and attacked. The one on his near left tried a right jab. Pitt grabbed his arm and threw him over his shoulder. The one on his far right tried a high kick. He duck, spun around, and kicked the vamp on his far left in the chest. The one right in front of kick charged and threw a left and a right punch. Pitt blocked both and landed two left jabs to the vampire's nose. The vamp on the right tried to kick Pitt in his midsection. He grabbed that vamp's right foot, pull him forward, and kicked him in the groin. He went down.

Pitt had repelled all the initial attacks. But now he was surrounded on four sides. He smiled. "That all ya got?," he taunted. The vampire on his left charged. Pitt stepped towards him and nailed him with a right cross. Then he did a right back kick to knock down the one behind him. Then a left spin kick to floor the one on his left, who was preparing to throw another kick of his own, but didn't have time to get it off. Pitt faced the vamp in front of him. Pitt stood straight up, like a statue. The vamp threw a right cross. Pitt swerved his head to the side. Then the vamp threw a left uppercut. Pitt arched his back and pulled his head back out of the way. Then Pitt tried a weak left kick. The vampire grabbed his left foot in midair. Pitt smiled, leaped in the air, spiraled his body like a corkscrew, and landed a right kick to the vampire's face. All four of them were down and hurting.

Hartog and Douglas walked in. "Don't hurt my men too much," Hartog told Pitt. "Remember, they're on our side."

Pitt walked over to them. "Cum on Hart. You know it's only tough luve. Gotta break 'em down before I can build them up."

"Or before you get the chance they could frag the drill sergeant," Douglas joked. "The army metaphors can cut both ways."

"Well, Doogie, you don't tell me how to fight, and I won't tell you how to split the atom."

"I'm a biologist. We don't split atoms. We splice genes."

"Whatever. Same difference. Loik I care. That's your department. And this is mine."

"And I'm in charge of both of them," Hartog reminded Pitt. "Morale's important. Keep them disciplined, but also keep them happy."

"That's wut hunting's for. They hunt at night, and train during the day. That way, there's a balance: work and reward."

"It think you and Doug would agree on that. He handles his technicians the same way."

"Did you act yet on the tip I gave Dougy?," Pitt asked Hartog.

"Yes I did. And thanks for the recon. Once that boy joined forces with the Slayer, he had to go. We couldn't tolerate an alliance of brains and brawns." He put his arms around Doug's and Pitt's shoulders. "After all, I want to be the only one with that combination."

Willow knocked on Zooey's door. "It's open," Zooey called out. Willow entered. "Good to see you all better."

"I'm not," Willow replied, walking up to Zooey. "Not until I can wrap my arms around you. Then I'll be all better."

"That makes two of us," Zooey replied. "As long as you're still here tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Sunday. I don't have classes. You don't have work. We have nowhere better to be than with each other."

"Sounds like a good start," Zooey answered nebulously.

"I here you spent last night with a cute boy. Should I be jealous?"

"Eli's a cutie, but he's a little young for me. Plus he's a one-woman man, and I'm a one-woman woman. And both our women were unavailable that night. How did the 'emergency family thing' go?"

"Okay, considering I would have rather been with you. You know that, right?"

"I do now." Willow went to kiss her. Zooey pulled back.

"What's wrong?," a puzzled Willow asked.

Zooey gave her a sly half-smile. "I've been waiting a while for this. So I just wanted wanted you to feel what the waiting was like." Willow moved in. Zooey moved back a few inches more, still smiling. "The longing, the aching, the smoldering desire." Zooey put her left hand behind Willow's right ear, and twirled Willow's hair with her fingers. Willow started to look a little flush.

"Okay Zo. Think you made your point quite powerfully." Zooey pulled Willow's head towards her. Willow smiled.

"And then just when you can't take the yearning and the burning any longer." Zooey kissed Willow.

The training was finished for the afternoon. Pitt and Douglas sat in the media room, drinking cups of hot blood and watching "The Man Who Would Be King." Roxane had just bitten Sean Connery's king, and he bled, proving to the Afghans that he wasn't a God. They rebelled, and a battle ensued between the numerous natives and the small force of Englishmen and their Indian Sepoys. This reminded Doug of something he wanted to ask Pitt. "You go on and on bout how you're a 'warrior,' a fighter and all. So why haven't you gone up against the Slayer? Isn't that was a 'warrior vampire' would do?"

"Tell ya why I haven't. Mid-70s, I went to Lisbon with my mate Shannon. Lo and behold, there was a Slayer in Portugal. I had never seen one. Naturally, I was curious. Shannon, he was ambitious. Wanted to take her oot. Found her and engaged her, he did. I tied up her Watcher, made him watch his young charge die before I ate him. Fierce gurl. Boot my height. Long, black, braided hair that flopped around when she fought. Dark, angry eyes. Yew want to know how a foit's goin', wootch the eyes. Forget the arms and legs. They're just distractions. Beginning of the row, she's gaut the eyes of a huntress sizing up her prey. Shannon's smart. Concedes the initiative. Forces her to attack, to try and kill him. He evades her attacks. She gets frustrated. He takes control, goes to work. Right aboot this time I see fear in those eyes of hers. She knows tables 'ave turned. Now she's the hunted. Shannon beats her up good. She gets desperate. This gives her a second wind. Girl gives him all she's gaught and then some. Ol' Shannon gets worried. Wonts to finish the deal. Gets behind her, bites her in the neck. Check mate. She's done for.

"That's when it gets real interesting. She's got that stake in her right hand. But he's behind her. So she can't reach him. Toim's running out. Blood's draining. Slayer knows she's dying. But she'll be damned if she doesn't take her killer with her. So this Slayer stabs herself with her own stake. Plunges it clear through her body, into her chest, out her back, and into Shannon's heart. Remember, his front was flush against her back. Poor bastard, killed at the moment of his greatest triumph. I tell the Watcher how proud he must be of his gallant yoong warrior, then drink him. Then I finished draining the Slayer. I know it's a vulture move, but why let all that blood go to waste? My point is, Slayer's a kamikaze, a bezerker. She knows she's going to die soon anyway. And I doont foit anything willing to take me down with it. I want to be around to enjoy my triumphs."

Douglas was a little blown away by the story. "Gotta respect that level of commitment. A Slayer willing to stake HERSELF to take out one of us." Pitt watched the battle scene at the close of the movie. The Indian sepoy officer says goodbye to his English employers and charges into a crowd of enemy Afghans, hacking as many enemies as he can before his inevitable death.

"Now thot I doont understand," Pitt complained. "He's a bloody mercenary! His employer's doomed. Why doesn't he run away through the mountain pass to safety, then go find himself a new boss? That would be the smart thing to do. But nooo!!! He commits suicide for a doomed cause he didn't have any stake in to being with. Bloody stoopid merc he is."

"I thought you believed in honor," Douglas replied.

"Doogie, honor is for when your foitin' for your own kind. Couple times I've hired demons as muscle, but I always knew when the shite hit the fan they would turn and run. Or when I did some work for the Orangemen in Ulster, takin' oot some greenies. I'm gonna feed anyway, so gettin' paid for it's a nice bonus. But I played it safe. Didn't get brave and risk being lynched by a band uv Republicans. Cum on! Loik I'd put my life on the line for humans."

"I've always been a fan of safety and forbearance myself," Douglas replied. He stood up and walked back to the lab. With the movie over, Pitt flipped through the tv channels. They had digital broadband cable, so channel surfing was going to take a while. Hartog was looking over the lab when Douglas entered.

"How is the order coming along?," Hartog asked.

"Nearly completed, Henry. Nothing you should concern yourself with. Real elementary stuff."

"Just make sure it's done on time."

"I promise it will be done ahead of schedule."

"What I like to hear, Doug." Hartog left the room and went into the computer lab. Four vampires with human faces were busily typing away. "The sound of effort! I love it."

"We love what we do," one of them told him.

"This is a dream job," another added. "I got some buddies who would GET KILLED to have it." The others laughed.

Another vampire entered. "Henry, you 5:30 is here."

"You mean the recruit?"

"Precisely."

"Fabulous." Hartog walked to the end of the hallway, walked out a door, and met the young man. "Hendrik Hartog. It's a pleasure. You must be Edwin. Did you have trouble finding the place?"

"No, oddly enough I didn't. Your directions were very helpful. But why do you work underground?" Hartog took Edwin inside. They walked down the hall.

"Security. We trade in intellectual property. Ideas are the life's-blood of this business. If we can't keep them secret, they're worthless. Trust me, with all the amenities, you won't even notice. He showed Edwin the arcade, the pool room, the media room. The wide-screen television and four rows of plush stadium seating impressed the young man.

"You sure take care of your workers, Mr. Hartog."

"Please, call me Henry."

"Is there a workout room?"

"Two, actually. One for weights. The other for aerobics, yoga, tai-chi, jujitsu, whatever else the kids these days are into. Now let me show you the laboratory." He took Edwin into the science lab.

"State-of-the-art equipment," Edwin noticed as he walked around. "This is better than what we had in college."

"It should be. I only want the best. The best equipment, and the best men to use it. How did you hear about my humble little outfit?"

"Through the Career Office at Cal Tech."

"Where you got your Masters."

"Actually, I flunked my Generals, so they gave me an M.S. as a parting gift."

"Nothing to be ashamed of. All I care about is what you can do from here on out. Masters, PhD, it doesn't matter so long as you're talented and can produce. This is a small company. A growing company in a growing field. So there is plenty of room for advancement."

"That's what I'm looking for. Some place where I can hit the ground running."

"Then I think you've found a new home. Now let's go into my office and we can discuss terms. Salaries, stock options, that sort of stuff." They walked in. Hartog shut the door.

"Oww! What are you doing!? Owwww!!!," Edwin yelled, before loss of blood quieted him.

Zooey woke up on Sunday morning. She looked to her right. There was Willow, sleeping soundly. She kissed Willow's left eyelid. Willow awoke. Zooey rolled on top of her. "You looked so beautiful and peaceful I almost felt bad about waking you."

"Glad you did. Can't have any fun when I'm dozed off." Willow ran her right hand across a long, thin, arching tattoo that ran across Zooey's upper back. Two curving lines extended out from a small, diamond-shaped geometric design in the center. "Didn't even notice this before, on account of the lights being off and all. How long you had it?"

"Bout two years. Thought it looked cool."

"It does. Very cool. Does it mean anything."

"Don't know. Got it for the look. Round the time I got my belly ring." Zooey rolled over onto her back. "And I know you noticed that last night." Willow smiled. Zooey got out of bed and put on shorts and a t-shirt.

"Hold it. Why are you leaving the bed and getting clothes on and doing all these counter-productive things? I thought you had nowhere to go."

"Just getting some breakfast. Thought maybe we could sit and talk and do the sorts of things I've heard couples do. We are a couple, right? We do have a relationship even when we're not on my mattress? Or at least we should." Zooey flipped on her stereo, which started playing "Cradle And All" from Ani DiFranco's "So Much Shouting, So Much Laughter."

"Of course we're a couple, even when we aren't naked," Willow responded as she got to her feet and threw some clothes on. "But I think we both know that's the best part." She got a cup of coffee. "What's this?," she asked.

"You don't like the music?"

"It's okay. It's just, different. You know, from what I listen to. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. After all, you're different from what I'm used to."

"It's real, it's raw. Pretty and brutal and messy all at once. The music, I mean." The song got to the bridge. "And listen here to her guitar playing. The way it's meshes with the groove laid down by the bass and the horns. The way it undulates. Very sensual. You feel it?"

"I do. This is good. You and me sitting down, talking, spending the day together. No distractions. No emergencies. You've been very patient with me and my crazy madcap life. I'm lucky to have you."

Jonathan's moment of action had arrived. He said goodbye to his boss Raul. Said it had been a pleasure, but it was time for him to return North. Raul didn't know Jonathan was a fugitive. He figured Jonathan was some college kid out slumming and learning what he could about magic in the exotic South. Jonathan told Andrew he was driving up to Sinaloa to pick up supplies for Raul. Jonathan had done this sort of thing many times before, so Andrew thought nothing of it and headed off to work. Jonathan grabbed what he needed from the apartment, got in his used Datsun with 120,000 miles on it, and drove north to face the music.

The border guards didn't give him much hassle south of San Diego. They let him through without a search, which would have been a waste of time since they'd be looking for drugs and he didn't have any. Jonathan was a fugitive from state law enforcement, but the federal border patrol didn't have him on their wanted list.

After driving for nearly 50 hours straight, he arrived in Sunnydale. There was some stuff he needed. After looking around for cop cars, he parked outside the Magic Box. A stocky middle-aged Mexican gentleman entered the store. Anya approached him. He said a few words in Spanish, acting as if he didn't speak English. She left him alone. He scanned the shelves, looking for a few special ingredients. After a few minutes, he found them. Then he walked to the cash register.

"I only accept American currency. DOLLARES AMERICANOS," Anya told him slowly and loudly.

"Bien," he replied. He read the numbers on the register, pulled out a bunch of greenbacks, and handed them to Anya.

She held the money and smiled. "You do speak my language after all!," she exulted. "The universal language of commerce. COMMERCIO, SENOR."

"Sî," he replied softly. She handed him his change. "Gracias," he told her. Then he took the bag with his purchases and left.

"Thank you and por favor come again, señor," Anya told him as he left. Spike came out from the back room. "I think we've reached a whole new demographic," Anya told him with a smile. "And the Latinos are the fastest growing market in this nation."

This reminded Spike of something. "Have you noticed that this is the only town in Southern California without a large Mexican population? Guess they're smart enough to steer clear of the demons."

"However, one would expect the low home prices to attract immigrants eager to acquire a piece of the American dream. Not to mention the frequent business turnover, which offers ample opportunities to the novice entrepreneur, as I myself have discovered."

"Speaking of 'turnover,' what happened on this street while I was gone for the weekend?"

"Didn't see it. Think it was some near-apocalypse."

"Oh. Just another one of those. They happen so often, it's hard to get excited about them anymore."

"I know what you mean."

Once in his car, the middle-aged Mexican changed back into Jonathan. Mimicking Raul's body for a few minutes allowed him to operate incognito. Anya would have recognized Jonathan immediately. Then Buffy would have gotten involved. That was the last thing he needed. Now he had time to kill. He couldn't perform his spell until nightfall. He thought about hanging around town for one last time, walking through the school, taking in the nostalgia. But it was too dangerous. He drove east towards the desert, across the county line, into places where he still enjoyed complete anonymity.

Spike didn't know what to do next. Buffy wanted him to reach out. He did, then she pushed him away. Spike had his pride. Going back right away would seem needy and desperate. If she wanted to play mind games, he could play along. She went to him, he told her to get lost. He went to her, she did likewise. Now it was Spike's turn to bide his time, to make Buffy wait. Then he could beg her to take him back from a position of strength.

Spike thought of this as he took a late-afternoon walk. He passed by the Bronze, and heard someone playing. He opened the door and walked in. Elijah sat on the edge of the stage, playing his Kramer electric, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was just fooling around with some chords. He played D-suspended, then D with open high E, again and again, slowly. Then he threw in a G-chord. Spike recognized the riff. It was the intro to Johnny Thunders' "You Can't Put Your Arms Around A Memory." Spike had seen Johnny play it in New York in 1978, shortly after he had written it. As Elijah played the verse part, unaware anyone was listening, Spike started mumbling the heartbreaking lyrics under his breath:

"It doesn't pay to try.

All the smart boys know why.

It doesn't mean I didn't try,

I just never know why.

It isn't cause I'm all alone,

Baby you're not at home.

And even though they don't show,

The scars aren't so old.

And when they go,

They let you know.

You can't put your arms around a memory.

So don't try. Don't try."

Suffice it to say, Spike had listened to that one a few times as he drank to dull his pain after Dru dumped him. As Elijah played the contemplative opening riff again, Spike walked up to him. He stopped playing, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and placed it at the far end of the guitar neck, between the bridge and the tuning pegs. "Wasn't expecting an audience."

"Just walking by and heard the strumming. Didn't know you smoked."

"Just when I'm playing. Or writing. I figure as vices go, it's pretty harmless."

"Compared to the other things musicians put in their bodies, yes. But that's a pretty minimal standard. I mean, look at Johnny."

"Yeah. He was quite the junkie."

"And an alcoholic on top of that."

"It's a shame he died so young."

"Actually Eli, it's a miracle he died so old. 38's pretty long in the tooth for a rock star with a death wish. I thought he wouldn't make it past 28. I saw him a couple times in the eighties, and he looked like a walking corpse. A stylish corpse, but a corpse none-the-less."

"You saw him play? What was he like?"

"Messy and magnificent and gloriously sloppy. A doomed romantic playing punk rock. Cynical and sentimental and serious and joking all at once. And actually a really good guitar player when he put some effort into it."

"Gotta love a loser with talent," Elijah commented.

"There's something endearing about a guy who doesn't live up to his potential. Unless you know the guy. Must be bloody maddening to care about someone who throws their life away."

Elijah thought Spike was giving him some sort of paternalistic advice about his own life. He didn't know Spike was talking about himself. "Don't have to worry about me, Spike. Too much of a perfectionist to be gloriously sloppy. It's not Johnny's lifestyle I identify with. It's his sentiment. Guess I'm also a doomed romantic, 'cept I take the doom parts pretty hard."

"You're not still pining for Elektra, are you?"

"No. I'm past that. We're not the same people we were when we were in love. And we were. Least I was. And she sure acted like she was. Course you can never be sure. But when she left me, it was like my legs had been cut off at the knees, and they took a long while to grow back. Suffering's great for art. So maybe it's also good for whatever it is I do. Happy, contented people don't make great musicians."

"I'd be wary of embracing the tortured artist pose if I were you."

Elijah took a drag from his cigarette. "Pain finds everybody. Least I can do something with it, put it into my work. Can't say that if you're a doctor or a lawyer or a computer programmer. Way I see it, most of life is about dealing with not getting what you want. No one ever gets the girl of their dreams. That's why she's in your dreams, instead of in your life."


	2. Uncommon Valor

Pitt was born Colin Pitney MacKenzie in 1908 in Aberdeen, on the eastern coast of the Scottish Highlands. He was from a family of stone cutters, and worked in the granite quarries outside of town. He was a decent and unexceptional young man. He came into adulthood at the start of the Great Depression, and he had trouble saving up enough money to get married and start a family. In 1938 he was drafted into the British army. He took to military life unusually well. During basic training he was promoted from private to corporal. When he landed in France in the spring of 1940, he was a sergeant. He showed great courage and leadership during the chaotic first few days of fighting in May, when the Germans plowed through the Allied lines faster than anyone expected them to. When his company commander died, the senior officers quickly promoted Colin to lieutenant. By the end of the month, the Panzers' westward thrust had cut off the English Expeditionary Force from their French allies. 300,000 English, Belgians and Frenc frantically retreated to the port of Dunkirk, hoping to make it across the Channel before the Nazis finished them off.

While everyone around him was terrorized and traumatized by their first taste of modern mechanized combat, Lieutenant MacKenzie felt disappointed that the fighting was ending so soon. Barely three weeks under fire, and now they were heading home. Colin wanted more. He wasn't a bloodthirsty man. It wasn't the killing that made him love battle. A soldier rarely came within two hundred yards of an enemy, much less got the chance to look him in the face and watch him die. What Colin loved was the danger. He had never felt so alive. A lot of his fellow soldiers felt the same thing. But all of them also felt mortal fear. That's why they felt so alive — they knew that at any moment they could die. They didn't like that sensation. But Colin didn't feel any fear. Perhaps it was because he had no wife or children to return home to. Perhaps it was because he found his pre-war life uninspiring. Whatever the reason, in combat he was fearless and dynamic and clear-headed.

So when the generals asked for volunteers for a holding force, Colin jumped at the opportunity. While English where embarking onto their ships, a small contingent of infantry had to hold back the Nazi vanguard coming at them from the south. Colin and the 150 soldiers in the company he commanded took up a position on a hill a few miles inland. After several hours of light fighting, the units around him retreated to more defensible positions closer to the beaches. But Colin would have none of it. He resolved to hold that hill until the enemy forced him off of it. His enthusiasm infected the men around him. All the other commanding officers were vacillating and feckless and demoralized. They were proud to fight for Colin. And they were sick of retreating and running away like cowards.

The company repelled charge after charge, even when they were surrounded after the other units pulled back. Colin had chosen a steep hill overlooking the main German line of march. So long as the 500-odd Germans attacking his position failed to dislodge him, Colin rained down light artillery and mortar fire on the German column. These were mere pot shots which did little actual damage but deeply annoyed the Germans. Colin's defiance taunted them. They knew his stand was suicidal — the longer he stayed on the hill the less chance there was that his men could make it to a ship before the English departed. But it was demoralizing to think they couldn't wipe out these few stubborn bastards. So they devoted a full battalion — 1,000 men — to taking the hill. And still Colin's company held. In part, this was because of the weather. The sky was foggy, preventing German planes from strafing the position (and also preventing German planes from sinking the British ships as they fled across the Channel, thereby saving their army). It had been raining heavily, so the ground was too soft for the Germans to employ heavy artillery or mechanized armoured infantry. All the Germans could do was lob a few small mortars and shells into the position and hurl men up the slope

Still, they would have easily taken the hill if Colin had not imbued his men with a complete disregard for their own safety. The Germans threw in another battalion of 1,000 men. But after a few abortive charges their colonel decided to leave. He knew it wouldn't be long before the British company ran out of ammunition. No point wasting his own men for the time being. So he left. 2,000 enemies turned back into 1,000. Colin's men were ecstatic. It felt like their own little victory. Still, they continued to get pounded on all sides. Casualties mounted. 20 dead, 50 wounded. Ammunition was running low. First they ran out of shells. Then mortars. Then grenades. Then they were nearly out of bullets. Colin wasn't going to surrender. Not after all his men had withstood. He surveyed the situation. I appeared that nearly half of the battalion he was fighting against had been killed, injured or retreated. The remaining 500 men surrounded him on all sides. But by spreading out into a circle, they had thinned their lines. Only a little over 100 men stood between him and the road the Germans were using. If he could break through that line, he could make it back to the beach. And what a triumph that would be.

His men loved the idea. After saying farewell to them, Colin had his 80 remaining fighters load up all the ammo they had left, fix their bayonets, and prepare to charge downhill. After forming into a compact formation, they ran out from behind their foxholes with loud whoops and hollers. The Germans couldn't believe their eyes. The besieged enemy was actually going on the offensive, right in the middle of the largest retreat in British history! Taken by surprise, most of the Germans who stood in the path of the British fled. Colin's men mowed down those who remained with their rifles. They made it to the road, bayoneting the men around the vehicles who didn't have time to flee. They broke clear through the German line. The enemy was too stunned and surprised to counterattack. Besides, the German lines were stretched out for twenty miles. A few dozen Scotsmen running through one tiny section of their massive army was hardly worth noticing.

A few platoons of Germans did take them on. Colin gleefully shot them down with his two pistols. The plan had worked. Half his company had plowed its way through an entire German regiment. There was even a good chance they could make it to the ships and be bragging about their exploits in Dover that evening. And then at the moment of victory, as he was running with his men to the beach, a bullet went through his spine. The men stopped for a moment. They couldn't believe their invincible leader had been vanquished. Panic set in. But Colin lifted his head and urged them on with inspiring words. "I will see you again. Now go!" He then lost consciousness. They headed on. 60 of them made it back to England. The rest were captured. Lieutenant MacKenzie was presumed dead. For his valor, he was posthumously promoted to captain and awarded the Victoria Cross, Britain's highest military honor. It was the first VC awarded in the war.

Colin became a hero at a time when his countrymen desperately needed one. The men of his who survived made sure the other soldiers knew of their story. MacKenzie briefly became a celebrity. His parents were profiled by the local newspaper. Press from Glasgow and Edinburgh talked to them about their heroic son. It was an appealing regional story — a company of brave Scotsmen defeat the Nazis while divisions of cowardly English run for their lives. His parents even heard their boy's deeds described in glowing terms on BBC radio. They were proud, but also deeply surprised. Their Colin was being described like some mythical warrior, a reincarnation of Rob Roy or William Wallace. It was hard to reconcile this portrayal with the unimpressive son they had known for 30 years. Of course, it's hard for any parent to be told out-of-the-blue that their child is a superhero. Especially since Colin had no special powers. He wasn't very strong, or very tall, or very fast, or very smart. He wasn't a great orator. There was nothing about him to indicate he could be a great leader of men. Of course, Colin didn't consider himself a great leader. He believed he just did his job while everyone else failed to do theirs. Within a few months, the Luftwaffe was over London, and peoples' attentions had moved on to new dangers, new battles, new heroes. Lieutenant MacKenzie became a footnote, one of thousands of local heroes the war produced. Men whose names were remembered fondly at the local pub but nowhere else. Still, even that's more notoriety than most people achieve.

When Colin woke up, he was in a hospital in Flanders in a German POW camp. The bullet had severed his spinal cord in his lower back. He would never be able to walk again. He wished he had died honorably rather than live in this condition. Worst of all was the fact that he was wounded in the back. That's what happened to cowards who ran away from the enemy. He found this cruelly ironic. It seemed like all his bravery had been for nothing. But the fog which saved the evacuating British army would come to Colin's aid yet again. Clouds had blocked out the sun for the entire day. A Dutch vampire named DeGrasse came out to watch the carnage. Vampires love war. Amidst all that chaos and bloodshed, they can kill and feed to their heart's content without anyone noticing. DeGrasse also enjoyed warfare on a cerebral level. Millions dying, cities in flames, misery and suffering everywhere. And all of it the work of human beings, creatures with souls. It was all a vampire needed to see to lose all respect for the species it preyed upon. Any animal with so much contempt for its own kind didn't deserve to rule the planet. The only good thing about humans was that they could become vampires. They were weak and wretched, but they had potential.

DeGrasse had seen Lieutenant MacKenzie in action, and knew that this human being definitely had potential. He saw Colin go down. He saw the Germans carry him away in a stretcher. A few days later, he found him in the hospital. Disguising himself as a German orderly, he was able to ascertain the extent of Colin's injuries. It was perfect. This mighty warrior, trapped in a broken human body, lying there, waiting to be rescued. And late at night, when no one else was around, he did just that, siring Colin and carrying him away. The next night, Colin awoke. He could walk. He was better. But he was different. And he liked it. Now he could be a warrior even when there wasn't a war going on. And now the killing brought him great pleasure. He felt complete. Of course, without a soul to offer a dissenting opinion, he couldn't help but approve of his new identity.

Colin now saw his life in three acts. First he was some nobody in Aberdeen. Then he went to war, and began his transformation. Getting sired completed it. His human body was too fragile and needed to be replaced. Now that he was a new man, he needed a new identity. Colin didn't sound tough enough. Pitney was even worse. But it could be shortened to Pitt. He liked the sound of that.

Pitt quickly left DeGrasse. He was too proud to be anyone's protege. He went to Paris, snacking on Frenchman and Nazi soldiers alike. But in the capital there were too many S.S. men with too many informers for Pitt to feel safe. He traveled South, to Vichy, where he had a wonderful time. He seduced French women by claiming he was a British spy working undercover to help the Free French. Then he told this story to the Free French. Then he told the Vichy police he was a double agent, a Nazi sympathizer pretending to work for the Allies. Sometimes he would sell out the French Resistance fighters to the Vichy collaborators. Sometimes he would sell out the collaborators to the Resistance. Sometimes he sell them both out, getting the two sides together and killing everyone himself. When he got too good at it and had made too much of a name for himself, he'd flee east to Switzerland, hang around Geneva, show the Swiss that with vampires there was no such thing as neutrality.

But something was missing. Pitt couldn't make a name for himself among the vampire community. As a human warrior, he became famous in less than a month. Five years as a vampire and he was still a nobody in the demon world. This ate at him. He needed admiration, or at the very least respect. The world of vampires was extremely clannish. If you didn't run with an important crew, or weren't friends with the right vampires, you were a nobody. Lone wolves like himself had no standing. It didn't matter how imaginative or clever his killing was, or how much danger he survived. He could sire fighters, or sire girlfriends, and try to make his own clan. But it was hard to produce anything more than mediocre vampires. The great ones, like himself, were rarities. Finding one of them to sire was as rare as winning the lottery. So Pitt had fun. He enjoyed himself. But deep down he craved something more than human blood.

Jonathan knew that Willow killed Warren in the woods to the east of town. But he didn't know the exact spot. But given the manner in which Warren was dispatched, this was easy to discover. Spells leave traces where they are cast. These traces linger, like mystical radioactivity. Usually they are too miniscule to detect. But what Willow did — obliterating a human body — left a powerful trace which Jonathan hoped would still be detectable even nine months after the event. He was right. A simple detector spell led him to the spot of the slaughter. Now began the hard part. He had to find what was left of Warren. He laid out a circle of stones, lit some incense to kindle a fire, added the appropriate herbs and animal parts, and began this most unusual of locator spells. The essential ingredient was a crimson ochre taken from the clays of the upper Don valley. Ancient Scythian priests used it to cover the dead during the burial process. This was what he had bought from Anya. It had only one use — finding the dead. Fortunately, when Anya rang up the lucrative purchase, she did not check the label very closely. At a glance, it looked like any one of dozens of powders the store carried.

He discovered the text of the spell in Raul's library. He translated it from Spanish into English. But this version of the spell was meant to find bodies, not pieces of bodies. To do that, he had to translate the spell from English into Old Slavonic. This took time, since Jonathan didn't know any of the modern Slavic languages, to say nothing of their antecedents. But the text he needed to translate was only about 100 words. The only difficult part was figuring out the proper verb conjugations. He chanted the spell as he poured the ochre into the fire. When he finished chanting, the ochre turned into a blue mist which rose up into the air. It dispersed, settling on tree branches. The florescent blue revealed where Willow had splattered Warren. A few minutes later the powder faded and disappeared. Jonathan had what he wanted.

Three days later, in the early afternoon, a short blonde woman entered the Espresso Pump and walked up to the counter where Buffy was. "What can I get for you today?," Buffy asked.

The woman showed Buffy her badge. "Detective Kate Lockley, California State Patrol. I need to ask you a few questions." Buffy looked concerned and surprised. She turned around, told her boss she was taking a short break, and stepped out from behind the counter.

"Would you like anything to drink?," Buffy asked offhandedly, to lighten the mood. After all, cops were supposed to like coffee. The woman shook her head. They sat down at a small table in the back corner of the cafe. "Can I ask what this is about?"

"The disappearance of Warren Mears. The man who shot you, then vanished without a trace. I imagine you'd like to find him. Am I right?"

"Uh, yeah sure. Of course. Absolutely," Buffy answered nervously.

"You don't seem very concerned, Miss Summers. Someone tries to kill you, and fails, they usually try again. So I figured you'd be nervous, maybe even a little afraid, that the man who shot you is still at large. Unless, of course, you knew what happened to him." She looked Buffy in the eye. Buffy shifted her eyes, blinked, and laughed nervously. "And if you did know, it would make my job a whole lot easier if you told me. I'm sure you don't, but I just have to ask." Kate looked at Buffy with a poker face, waiting for Buffy to respond. After about ten seconds Buffy gave in.

"Oh! You're actually asking me? Cause, well, of course I don't know. He shot me. I almost died, so I wasn't in a position to track his whereabouts, and when I got through being nearly dead, he was gone."

"So your story is, the last time you saw him was when he shot you."

Buffy paused a few seconds. "Yep. I mean yes, that's my story. That's what happened."

"Of course it is. After all, lying to me is a felony offense. Thanks for your time, Miss Summers." Kate got up and walked to the door. Buffy thought of asking what this was about, why the police were talking to her for the first time nine months after the fact, but Kate was gone before Buffy could get the words out of her mouth. She went back to work. The detective had that sly, knowing half-smile of a woman who knew more than she was letting on. Then there was the part where Buffy lied to her and Kate responded by reminding Buffy that it was a crime to lie to the police. Kate definitely made Buffy nervous. A few minutes later, nervousness turned to fear. Not for herself, but for Willow.

That evening, Kate knocked on Buffy's front door. Dawn opened it. "Can I come in?," Kate asked.

Dawn was wary of inviting in strangers after dark. "I don't know. Can you?," she asked in all seriousness.

"Not if you don't invite me in," Kate answered. Dawn looked frightened and too a step back. Kate pulled out her badge. "I'm with the State Police. I can't legally enter a private home without an invitation, or a warrant." Dawn looked at the badge suspiciously. It all seemed like a trick. "Can you wait one second?," Dawn asked. She scampered into the living room, opened up Buffy's weapons chest, and pulled out a cross. Then she went back to the door and thrust it against Kate's coat. Kate laughed. This girl actually thought SHE was a vampire. How ironic.

"You must have some pretty scary cops around here," Kate joked. She entered. "Is Willow Rosenberg at home?"

She was. But Dawn was still nervous. "May I ask what this is about? Is Willow in some sort of trouble? Cause she's SO not the kind of person to ever cause trouble with the police." Dawn was getting more nervous.

"I just need to ask her a few questions about some other people who are in trouble. Nothing for her — or you — to get nervous about. If she's not home now, I can come back later when she is."

Dawn realized there was no point in trying to hide Willow from this woman. "I'll be right back," she told Kate, heading upstairs to Willow's room. Kate walked around Buffy's living room, killing time. A few minutes later Willow came downstairs.

"So you have a few questions for me? About what, exactly?"

"Warren Mears." Willow looked very worried. "I understand if this is a difficult subject for you to discuss. But all I'm asking for is a minute of your time." Willow reluctantly sat on the edge of the couch. Kate sat down in a chair on the other side of the coffee table.

"I'm sorry I have to do this, but the local police reports are grievously sketchy. Since the death of Tara MacLay was not reported to the authorities until several hours after she was killed by Mr. Mears, am I to assume that she was alone inside the house at the time of the shooting?"

Willow paused for a few seconds. "Well, no. I mean, Buffy and Xander were here."

"Of course. But they were outside on the lawn. Was there anyone else besides Miss MacLay inside the house when the shooting occurred?"

Willow recognized the trap. If anyone else was home, why didn't they call an ambulance or notify the police that Tara had been shot? So if she told the truth, Willow would have to explain herself. "No. Tara was alone," Willow answered.

"Thank you. That's all the questions I have for now." Kate let herself out. About an hour later, Buffy came home.

"Willow, is something wrong?"

"There was this police woman asking questions about Warren killing Tara."

"Blonde? About my height? Thirtyish?" "Really pretty?"

"Well, I wouldn't say REALLY pretty. But not as ugly as most cops I've seen," Buffy replied defensively.

"She talked to you too?"

"This afternoon. At the coffee shop."

"What did she ask you?"

"Just if I knew where Warren was. Then she left. Kinda creeped me out. Of course, I lied to her, told her I didn't know. But she seemed to sense that I was lying. Like she was setting me up."

"Setting you up for what?" "Well, if she knows Warren's dead, she'll want to find out who killed him. Or maybe she knows what happened, and wants to back us into a corner and make us confess."

"There is no us. I'm the one who did it."

"Willow, I won't tell her anything. I promise. Without us, she has no proof. Then she'll go away and this will all blow over."

"No it won't."

"Willow, you're not going to jail."

"That's not what I mean. We can't pretend it didn't happen. Actually, you can, and Xander can, but I can't. I have blood on my hands. And I can't make that go away. Having this woman come by and bring it up just reminded me of that fact. I can't escape what I did. You can't run from your own conscience."

The next morning, Kate showed up at Xander's building site. There were the requisite whistles from the construction workers. Xander was at a table looking at blueprints. She introduced herself and suggested they go into his trailer for a private talk. He didn't say no, though he was nervous. Several of the guys gave him thumbs-up and winks. Unlike them, Xander took her seriously.

"After Warren Mears shot Buffy, you ran into the house and called for an ambulance. Right?"

"That's correct."

"Then I suppose you ran outside to stay with your wounded friend until the paramedics arrived."

"Yes. Of course. What else would I do?"

"No need to sound defensive. You did the right thing. Without you, Buffy would have died. What I'm wondering is, do you have any idea why Warren Mears wanted to kill Miss Summers?"

"Miss Summers? Oh! You mean Buffy." To Xander, Miss Summers sounded like Joyce.

"Right. Why would he single her out for an execution-style attack outdoors in broad daylight?"

Xander thought about this. Obviously this police officer would not believe the truth. After all, the truth would sound crazy to an outsider. "He didn't like her."

"That's it?"

"And I think he was psychotic."

"Then why didn't he try to kill you?"

"You'd have to ask him."

"Right. Of course, he could have tried to kill you, but missed. It's obvious Mr. Mears was a psychopath with very bad aim. Tragically bad aim, actually."

Xander realized she was referring to Tara. "Yeah. Tragic."

"All murders are tragedies. Especially the ones where you can't find the murderer." Then she got up and left. Xander sat for a minute, trying to figure out why it took so long for the police to interview him. The detective hinted that she was looking for Warren. That worried Xander. He tried to put it behind him and went back outside. A few of the guys came over to him.

"Didn't know it was your birthday."

"It's not."

"Then why did someone send you a present?"

"What are you talking about?"

"That woman. The 'cop.' What did she do, handcuff you to the chair and give you a lap dance?"

"No Kenny. She was an actual cop."

"No real cop's that foxy. Come on, Xander. We ain't naive. Police officer's the oldest stripper setup there is."

"Okay. I admit it. When we went inside, she took off her coat. Then when she left, she put it back on. That was all the stripping she did. She said she was with the State Police, and she gave me no reason to believe otherwise. Sorry guys."

"Harris, you're the one who should feel sorry. Not very often you get to meet a hot little piece of tail like that. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Sure. She's a definite hottie. But it was all business. And I generally avoid hitting on women who can toss me in jail if make a bad first impression."

Two days after Jonathan did his spell, Andrew was awakened by two Mexican police officers who broke down his door and handcuffed him. "What the hell are you doing in my house?" With them was a U.S. Marshall.

"Andrew Wells, you are under arrest for attempted armed robbery, conspiracy, accessory to murder, and accessory to attempted murder."

"Murder! What are you talking about?," he asked as they led him out to the police car.

"Spike, why haven't I seen you with Buffy?," Anya asked in the store.

"Since when was my life any of your business?"

"She forgave you. You know that, right? Whatever you did to her, she forgave you."

"So now she's talking to you about me? Didn't know you two were close."

"She wouldn't, and she didn't. I was a Vengeance Demon, remember?"

"She asked you to curse me? I don't bloody well believe it."

"Buffy's more-than-capable of settling her own scores. Remember Spike, Vengeance Demons sense pain and rage. That's how they find clients. And believe me, deep down inside Buffy was calling out to the heavens. She didn't know it, but my God, I'm surprised every Vengeance Demon within 500 miles didn't find their way to her doorstep."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm not asking you to. I just wanted you to know that Buffy was a 100 megaton neutron bomb full of rage. I've gone decades without sensing pain that intense. But then a week later, there was nothing. All that pain, gone. And you didn't have to apologize or beg or do anything to atone for what you did to her. Like nothing ever happened in the first place. Clean slate. Now THAT I had never seen before. It's that funny Christian word that's the opposite of justice. What's that called? Oh, right. Grace. You got yourself a freebie. All you have to do is accept it. Why haven't you?"

"It's not that simple. It never is."

"Oh, for crying out loud! Who do you think you're talking to? I know why you can't accept her forgiveness. You don't think you deserve it. That's what grace IS — undeserved forgiveness. I know you have quite the masochistic streak, but quit torturing yourself and get the girl already! We're all coupled up. You two are the missing link. Plus if you don't Sterling and Aiden are going to set you up with someone. They're very concerned about your excessive solitude."

"What! Those wankers told you this?"

"Not exactly. But they do wonder about you. Elise and Zooey as well. They even think you might be gay."

"What the bloody hell gave them that idea?"

"Something about not ever hitting on them. Hell, if I was their band leader, I might even be tempted to . . . it's irrelevant. The point is, give up the tortured loner act. You've gone to such great lengths to get Buffy care for you, so it's insane that you won't be a man and close the deal already. But not now. Right now you need to do inventory." Spike walked into the store room muttering under his breath. He really hated when Anya was both on the mark and insufferably bossy.

"I can hear that!," Anya told him.


	3. Scullly and Chris Noth rolled into one

After talking to Xander, Kate called Buffy, who said she was heading out to work. Kate told Buffy to meet her at the small park across from the school near the center of town. They met on a park bench. "Buffy, do you have any idea why Warren targeted you?"

"He hated women, I guess."

"Yes, but there are more that 16,000 women in this town, and he came specifically after you."

"I guess he just had it in for me."

"Because you're the Slayer?"

Buffy played dumb. "I don't know what your talking about."

"You're a lousy liar."

"How do you know all this? What are you?"

"You think Sunnydale is the only town in California with vampires? I've staked one or two myself." Buffy sat to Kate's right. She looked at her neck, and saw a small, crescent-shaped scar.

"You've been bit."

Now Kate was the one who got nervous. "Just a scratch. So what I'm figuring is you, being the ever-vigilant night watchwoman of this little hamlet, foiled Warren's plans. So he takes revenge."

"Why do I get the feeling you already know the answer to every question you ask?," Buffy wondered.

"Because you never give me a straight answer. Try telling the truth and this will go a whole lot quicker. You think I can't handle the truth?"

"Truthfully? No, I don't think you can."

"You'd be shocked to learn what I can handle. Did Warren use magic to try to pull off his big score? Let's hear you answer one for a change."

Buffy decided to stop evading. At least for this one. "Yes. Yes he did."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it Buffy? How bout we try another one? In the autumn of 2001, there was a robbery at a museum in this town. A big jewel was stolen. Was that Warren and his little helpers?"

Buffy laughed. Something about Andrew and Jonathan being referred to as "little helpers" struck her as amusing. "I believe it was."

"Now robbing a museum for an artifact with powerful magical properties is not unheard of. (Kate was throwing in personal references Buffy had no chance of understanding.) I know they didn't fence the jewel, cause they're amateurs, and amateurs trying to unload something that valuable always get caught. So what did they use the jewel for?"

Buffy decided to see if Kate really could handle the truth. "To build an invisibility ray gun. Made anything it shot disappear."

Kate paused. "I see I'm not the only smartass here."

"No. I'm serious. What's the matter? More than you can handle?"

"So they made themselves invisible and went on a crime spree?"

"Actually I destroyed the gun before they could do that."

"How convenient. Would this be part of your role as Warren's bete noire?" Buffy looked confused. "His nemesis."

"Oh, right. Of course. To be honest, calling me their nemesis demeans me, since it implies they were my equals."

"Sorry. Forgot you're used to fighting immortals."

"Yes, and it is a vital but thankless job for which I don't get paid. So right now I have to go do a far, far less vital job which actually pays the bills." Buffy stood up and walked away. Kate followed her. She stood on Buffy's right, and looked at that side of her neck.

"I see you've also been bitten. Battle scar?" Of course, Buffy knew nothing about Kate. She didn't know Kate was with the LAPD, or that she knew Angel, or that she was bitten by Angel. Kate didn't know anything about Angel's past, so she didn't know about Buffy and Angel.

"Something like that," Buffy responded nervously. Right then Spike approached. Buffy looked even more nervous.

"Who's the bird, pet? You make a new friend?," Spike asked playfully.

"She's with the state police," Buffy answered.

"I'm investigating the attack on Buffy which occurred last May."

Spike looked shocked and terrified. He thought she meant his attempted rape. "I don't believe this! First you say you forgive me, and now you're pressing charges?" Kate appeared confused.

"Spike, she's investigating Warren. You know, the guy who shot me."

Spike breathed a sigh of relief. "By the way, I was out of town when that occurred. And I can prove it. I have alibi witnesses. So no reason to bother with me, constable."

Kate looked at Spike and smirked. "You appear to have a very guilty conscience. Five minutes alone with you and who knows what you'd confess to me. But I have better things to do with my time. Spike - is that your first or your last name?"

"It's just Spike."

"So you're one of those mysterious pretty-boy prima donnas who goes by a single, short, evocative name. I'm all too familiar with your type." Of course, she was referring to Angel. If only she'd known how on the mark this comparison was. Spike was freaked-out by the insightful blonde lady and retreated back to the Magic Box. Kate vaguely reminded him of Darla, who also had a sharp tongue and didn't think much of Spike.

Kate continued walking with Buffy. "One more question. The hospital says you entered with one friend, and left with two. I assume the first friend was Xander. Who was the second?"

Buffy decided it wasn't worth lying in this particular instance. "It was Willow."

"Buffy, I'm going to tell you something I shouldn't. For me to reveal classified case information is improper and unethical. So you have to promise me what I tell you stays between the two of us."

"Don't worry about me. I've become very good at keeping secrets."

"Earlier this week, the body of Warren Mears was discovered. Actually, remnants of him were discovered. Evidently, something blew him to bits. The county coroner concluded he was making a bomb and it exploded prematurely. The local police are happy to have one less fugitive to hunt down. But some of them weren't convinced of the cause of death. That's why I was brought in. I'm telling the DA that I see no reason to object to the coroner's findings. Case closed. Sorry to have been such a bother these past two days."

Buffy couldn't completely conceal her relief, which she expressed in the form of profuse flattery. "Hey, we're cool. You were just doing your job. I understand that. And you weren't a bother. Thanks. Best of luck. Keep up the good work."

"You too," Kate responded. She walked to her unmarked car and drove away. She had other places to go, other cases to solve. As she watched Kate leave, Buffy almost missed her. Kate was the first cop she met who had a clue. Kate was smart, quick with a comeback. She knew about vampires. She knew Buffy was the Slayer. It was exceedingly rare for Buffy to meet someone who understood her world.

A few nights later, Willow received an email from Patrick Gugan. "Come on by. I got something to show you. Bring Buffy." It had been more than a week since they had heard from him. Maybe he had another discovery, or another report from the Counter-Council. The two of them went over. Patrick's door was ajar. They entered. They saw Patrick sitting in his desk chair, facing the door. His arms hung limp. He was lifeless. There were two holes in his neck. Buffy gasped.

"No, no. This can't be happening. It just can't," Willow said. She slowly moved towards the body. She looked into his eyes. She studied his face. It was Patrick. And he was dead. She turned around and walked to the wall. After about 20 seconds of silence she started crying. Buffy couldn't quite believe it either. She turned away after a few seconds. Every corpse she saw reminded her of Joyce. To see the lifeless body of someone she knew was especially painful. She called the police, and tried to think of how this could happen. Patrick wouldn't invite a vampire into his home. And when he was out at night he was careful. He knew how to protect himself.

When asked how he died, Buffy told the dispatcher Patrick was murdered. They sent over a forensic detective, who provided Buffy and Willow with some revealing clues. "He's been dead at least a week. Evidence of freezer burn. The vic was frozen. Bled to death, and then frozen post mortem. Body was then brought back here so it could be discovered. We're dusting for fingerprints, looking for hair and skin samples to try to find out anything on the person or persons who brought the body back here. Appears they busted up some stuff to try to make it look like a robbery. But the only valuables they took were this computer's hard drive. Whoever did this was a pro. They were very meticulous. Did Patrick have any enemies?"

"None I know of. Not by name, anyway," Willow said.

"And how did you two know the deceased?"

"He was my teacher," Willow replied. "Last semester. We've hung out a few times since then."

"And he sent you an email, from his address, dated tonight?"

"Yes. A couple hours ago."

"So the perp knew that you knew Mr. Gugan. And he wanted you to find the body. Can you think of anyone who would know the both of you and want to harm Patrick?"

"No. I didn't know his other friends, or acquaintances, or anyone else he knew. I'm sorry, but I can't think of anyone." Willow and Buffy left. Neither of them said anything on the drive home. It was too tragic, too typical. They meet someone, and just when they begin to like him, to form a personal attachment to him, he gets killed. There was one thing they knew for sure. This was no ordinary vampire killing.

8

The next evening, Buffy, Willow and Xander sat around the table in Buffy's dining room, trying to piece together the clues. "Here's my question: Why freeze him?," Xander asked.

"To buy time," Buffy answered. "This vampire took his computer. It wanted to be finished before we knew Patrick was dead."

"But it wanted us to know," Willow pointed out. "It wanted to advertise its presence. And it used Patrick's email account. Which it couldn't do without knowing Patrick's password. Or without hacking into the server to get that information."

"So it could be an inside job," Buffy proposed. "We're dealing with something sophisticated."

"Something that could make use of Patrick's research, his data," Willow added.

"You mean a vampire who's a scientist?," Xander asked.

"Or who's connected to someone or something with that kind of knowledge," Willow answered.

Buffy put it together. "A vampire. With scientific and computer connections. With access to a cooler large enough to store a man. A vampire with patience. Something doesn't click. It just seems too meticulous for a vamp."

"Too dispassionate," Willow commented.

"Bingo," Buffy responded. "Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way. Maybe the vamp's just a bit player. It kills Patrick. But others do the rest. We need to know more. About Patrick. About his work.

About who could have been aware of his work." Xander looked at the obituary in the paper. "Listen to this: 'on Friday it was announced that Patrick Gugan would become a Full Professor before the start of the Fall 2003 Semester. He would be replacing Heindrick Hartog, who announced his retirement after 25 years with the department.' Guy gets killed right after he gets the big promotion."

"That's what he always wanted," Willow noted. "Elevation to a tenure-track position. It's every post-doc's dream."

Xander had a theory. "So this Hartog guy's being forced out. Maybe he doesn't want to leave."

Willow corrected her best friend. "Xander it doesn't work like that. Henry had tenure. He couldn't be forced out."

"Excuse me, Henry?," Xander asked.

"Henry Hartog. That's what his students called him. He was one of the lecturers for my course last fall. The one where Patrick was my lab instructor."

Xander would not give up on his theory. "I may be going out on a limb here, but this Henry guy wouldn't be the first evil professor you've had."

"It's a crackpot idea, but it's our only idea so far," Buffy explained. "We have to start somewhere. Let's just check this guy out. He knew Patrick. Maybe it will give us a few leads."

"I'll just do a quick online search," Willow suggested. "Xander, do you assume all my college professors are evil?"

"Of course not. Even though the only two I've heard of are Maggie Walsh and this guy. So even if this guy's clean, that's only a 50 rate of evil."

"But I've had more than 30 professors. And I'm almost positive none of the others are evil."

"I say one evil professor is one too many. Makes me glad I didn't go to college."

Willow found her preliminary information. "Let's see what his story is. Divorced. No children. Ex-wife a biology professor at Duke. Born in Boulder, 1950. Moved to Yorba Linda, 1955. UCLA undergrad. PhD from Penn State. Hired by UC-Sunnydale right out of grad school. He's been here ever since. Pretty boring. Nothing incriminating."

"Isn't 53 a little young to retire?," Buffy asked.

"I suppose," Willow answered. "But wait. He's not retiring. He's going into the private sector. Last summer he founded a bio-engineering company: Horizon Genetics. Ooh. Here's a link to their web page. Based right here in Sunnydale."

"Is this town a hotbed for that sort of high-tech stuff?," Xander asked.

"Not particularly," Willow answered.

"But we are a hotbed for evil," Xander pointed out. "In fact, I think that's the only thing we're a hotbed for. What do they say they do?"

"Genetic testing. Forensic testing. Basic services. Plus they say they do research designed to discover 'the great medical breakthroughs of the 21st century.' But that's what all these companies say."

"They're scientists. They must have labs, offices. Where does it say they're located?," Buffy asked.

"It doesn't. Or at least I haven't found that information. Give me a minute. Here's an address. But it's on Main Street. I don't see how or why they'd out a science lab downtown. Oh wait. It's their corporate business office. Nope. Nothing on the location of the lab."

"And isn't that suspicious?," Xander asked.

"Could be," Willow responded. "Or it could just be a safeguard against industrial espionage. If you make a big discovery, you want to keep it secret until you can market it. You don't want your competitors snooping around and stealing your secrets."

"Or you don't want the Scoobies sneaking around discovering your evil plans," Xander countered.

"Do we know if this guy's still human?," Buffy asked. "Maybe he's just been sired, and no one knows he died. That could be why he's retiring."

"But he's teaching a class this semester," Willow pointed out. "On genetics."

"So what," Xander rebutted. "Why couldn't a vampire teach a class? As long as there aren't any windows in the lecture hall, I think he could pull it off."

"But he'd have to have student contact. Someone would notice," Buffy replied.

"Maybe not," Willow began. "I'm not saying I'm on board the undead prof train, but he could avoid human contact. He's a tenured professor. He doesn't do labs. He doesn't do tutorials. He just lectures for one hour twice a week. He doesn't even grade exams. He would have to come up with some way to limit contact with the TA's. But it's possible. It's not unheard of for professors to have little contact with their students or even their TA's."

"Are you saying there could be other vampire professors we don't even know about?," Xander asked.

"Xander, please," Willow responded. "But it's worth checking out. Not the whole faculty. Just this one guy."

"How do we do that?," Buffy asked. "Throw holy water in his face? Stick a crucifix against his body? Drag him into the light of day? Speaking of which, how would he leave the building? These classes are in the daytime, right?"

"He could always hang around his office until sunset," Willow answered. "I can't believe we're even considering this. I took a course from this guy a few months ago. Now he's some evil mastermind? Hold on. I know him. I can talk to him. Shake his hand. If it's unusually cold, we'll know Xander's suspicions could be right."

"And it's much less ostentatious that my suggestions," Buffy responded.

"But if he's a vampire, won't he try to kill you?," Xander asked.

"I'll see him after class. In public. In front of hundreds of other people. If he's a vampire, but he doesn't want people to know, he won't try anything that could blow his cover."

"Maybe I should back you up," Buffy proposed.

" If he's sees you he won't stop to talk with me. You're the Slayer, so he'll figure you're there to kill him. Obviously a fight would blow his cover, so he'd flee. Then we wouldn't know if he's a vampire of if he just isn't in the mood to mingle. Don't worry. I can take care of myself."

"You look chipper today," Hartog said to Pitt.

"Always love that moment when boys become soldiers. They're ready for combat."

"Where did you decide to debut them?"

"I've got a friend in LA. The one you met last month. We're going up there."

"But your boys are green as grass. You think they're ready for the big city?"

"I'm just going to give them a taste. Nothing dangerous. Then we campaign in Orange County."

"Going under the radar. I like it. Our enemies won't even notice."

"I figure six days to train the next squad, so we have a tactical reserve. Three nights of skirmishing with the first squad, one night of scouting, and they'll be ready for our big score. The one that puts you on the map. The one that allows you to redraw the map."

"So they leave tonight. Your friend takes them site seeing in metropolis tomorrow. Then they hit the suburbs. Can you train the reserve in five days, move everything up one night?"

"I suppose."

"Good. Because I want our efforts coordinated. You attack when I attack. That way we keep everybody busy. Plus I know you don't want to be around when my visitors come to town."

"I can't believe you did this to me!," Andrew yelled at Jonathan in the interrogation room. It was the first time they had met since Jonathan left Mexico.

"Of course you can. You always knew I was the one with a conscience."

"But I thought you also had a brain. We were in the clear. Do you WANT to do prison time?"

"I want to get on with my life. I couldn't be happy living out my days as a fugitive, always looking over my shoulder."

"You were always the tattle tale. Like when we were seven, and we stole those Ho-Ho's from the pantry, and my mom asked what we had for lunch, and you confessed. You don't confess to someone else's mother! Unless — unless you LIKE being punished."

"I like having a clear conscience."

"Nobody has a clear conscience. Except maybe Ghandi. Or Data. But he's a robot. So that doesn't count. And even he briefly went over to the dark side and became part of the Borg."

Kate entered the room. Andrew and Jonathan looked at her and smiled. They started squirming in their chairs. All of a sudden they didn't feel like criminals. They felt like schoolboys spending time after class with the hot substitute teacher. "Mr. Wells, Mr. Levin, I'm Detective Kate Lockley of the California State Police. I'm going to talk to you off-the-record. Do you know what that means?"

"She called us Mister!," Jonathan whispered to Andrew.

"Dude, she is so hot!," he whispered back. Then they tried to act mature.

"It means what we tell you doesn't matter," Andrew answered.

Jonathan attempted to sound more sophisticated. "Nothing we say to you in this conversation can be used against us or anyone else in a court of law. Otherwise counsel would need to be present, since neither of us have waved that right pursuant to this interview."

"Pursuant?," Andrew whispered. "Could you be any phonier?"

"I see you two smart young men understand." They smiled at the compliment. "My first question is for Andrew." He seemed proud of this apparent honor. "Your friend Warren died what can only be described as an exceedingly violent death in a forest on the eastern outskirts of the town of Sunnydale. From the dispersal of his remains, it is clear that something caused his body to explode. Jonathan has claimed that Warren was tinkering with a bomb and it prematurely detonated. Is this what happened?"

"No. Warren would never — he would never make a mistake like that. He wouldn't screw something up. And we weren't even building any bombs! Jonathan's lying."

"That would appear to be the case," Kate responded. Jonathan looked stunned. "No explosive residue was found at the scene. No signs of combustion. No traces of gunpowder or nitrates. Sure, the body was found nine months after the fact. A lot of the evidence could have been lost by then — washed away by the rain, blown away by the wind. But if Warren's DNA remained, certainly some microscopic trace of the bomb which killed him would still be around."

"Are you calling me a liar?," Jonathan asked.

"I didn't say that. I just said your explanation is shot full of holes. Even so, it's still the best explanation we got. Until a better one comes along, we have to accept it. Do you have a better explanation, Andrew?"

"I'm just saying, it didn't go down like Jon says it did."

"Then how did it go down?" Andrew was silent. The truth would make him sound insane. "Remember, off-the-record. No tape recorders. No one listening. No one watching. Whatever you say stays between the three of us."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?," Andrew asked.

"You'll have to trust me. At this point, who else can you trust? Do you believe Warren was murdered?"

At that point Andrew gave in. He couldn't let this smear on Warren's competence stand unopposed. The truth had to be heard. "Willow did it! She killed Warren." Jonathan tried to not to look worried.

"You mean Willow Rosenberg? That was my hunch." Andrew looked relieved. Jonathan looked frightened. The last thing he wanted was to play a role in getting Willow in trouble. "Murderer disappears before the cops can find him, chances are it was payback. People kill for love all the time. How do you know this, Andrew? Were you there?"

"Uh, no. But trust me, I know what happened."

"How?"

"She came after us. She tried to kill the two of us after she killed Warren."

"Interesting theory. As a rule, I don't trust jailhouse snitches." Andrew looked wounded by this insult. "Did she attack you after Warren helped you two escape from prison."

"Warren didn't help us escape!," Andrew replied. "He was dead."

"You're saying he died while you two were in custody. That is very interesting. Because the police, and the district attorney, are working under the assumption that Warren sprung you two from jail, the three of you went to the forest, Warren died, and you two fled the jurisdiction. How then did you escape from prison?"

"Willow came to kill us, and we got out during the confusion," Andrew offered.

"So she wants to punish the two of you. And in the process of trying to do that she helps you escape from jail, and thereby avoid punishment? Am I the only one who sees the irony in that version of events?"

"Is that a way of saying you think Andrew is lying?," Jonathan asked hopefully.

"Course not. But it also doesn't mean I think it's true. Just means I think it's ironic. Mostly, it's irrelevant." Andrew looked disappointment. "What's relevant in Warren's murder." Andrew looked hopeful. "I mean, your claim that Warren was murdered." Andrew looked less hopeful. "Let's take your story seriously for a moment. Willow kills Warren. Do you know how she does it?" Now Jonathan looked hopeful. No way he could tell this lady the truth.

"She blew him up," he answered evasively.

"How did she blow him up?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there." Andrew thought this answer was pretty clever.

"Then how do you know she blew him up?"

"Because you said he was blown up. And I know Willow did it."

"How do you know that?"

"She told me. She told both of us."

"Is this true, Jonathan?"

"No," he replied. He was right. She never said "I killed Warren" in so many words.

"Yes she did. And so did everybody else."

"Who is everybody else?"

Now Andrew was ready to tattle. "Buffy Summers. Xander Harris. Anya - ah, I don't know her last name. But they all saw it go down."

"I talked with all of them," Kate explained. "Not Anya, whoever that is. But I talked to Summers, Harris and Rosenberg. And their version of events does not even remotely match yours."

"That's because they're lying! They're protecting their friend. Isn't that obvious? Does that make them accessories to murder?" Andrew would love nothing better than to bring the Scoobies down with him.

"So I'm supposed to trust the word of an accused felon against three law-abiding citizens?" Jonathan smiled. He liked how every time Kate got Andrew's hopes up she dashed them right away. He was really developing a crush on this woman.

"They can be accused felons too," Andrew retorted. "All you have to do is accuse them of what they've already done."

"Even if I were to accept everything you've told me at face value, there is still the problem of means. Willow has motive. She has opportunity. But how did she do it?"

"I told you, she blew him up."

"With what? A bomb? No explosive residue. Any other suggestions?"

"Why don't you ask her how she did it?"

"She doesn't have to answer."

"That's right. Fifth Amendment protection against self-incrimination," Jonathan pointed out, trying to make a good impression.

"Jon's right. No incriminating physical evidence. No witness testimony. No confession. No way to extract witness testimony or a confession. If Willow did pull it off, it certainly was the perfect crime. Yet it would have been committed in the heat of passion. So it doesn't fit. Revenge killings are always messy. And she hardly strikes me as a master criminal. It's like something's missing."

Andrew couldn't take it anymore. "Magic. She killed him with magic. She flayed him alive, and splattered his body over the forest."

"Don't remember Harry Houdini ever pulling that one off. Sounds more than a bit far-fetched."

"It's Aachem's Razor," Andrew explained. "The simplest explanation. Warren was blown up. But no explosion. No physical evidence. It's magic. What else could it be?"

"You might have a point there, Andrew. But if you look through the California Penal Code, you won't find death by magic listed as a crime. It lists hundreds of methods of killing. But nothing about magic. I'm sure you wouldn't find death by magic on the books in any of the other 49 states, or in the laws of any other nation on Earth. I suppose if this were 16th-century Europe you could have Willow burned as witch. Unfortunately for you, the Enlightenment kind of took care of that superstition. So you're out of luck."

"You mean she can get away with murder?"

"Theoretically, yes. If she did actually eviscerate Mr. Mears using some sort of hocus-pocus abracadabra mojo no rational person can believe in. Was there ever a 'Twilight Zone' episode where a man would be declared insane for speaking the truth?"

"There might have been more than one," Andrew answered.

"Are you thinking of the same ones I am?," Jonathan asked.

"Sorry. Rhetorical question. My point is, I can't say for sure which one of you is telling the truth. But one of your stories is plausible, while the other is implausible. And if you can't have truth, you have to settle for plausibility."

"But what about truth, justice and the American way?," Andrew asked.

"The truth is both of you participated in an attempted armoured car robbery. Justice demands both of you serve time in prison. And that, dear boys, is the American way." Then Kate left. She went down the hall and saw the prosecutor. "There's nothing there," she told him.

"That was like a Scully fantasy come true," Andrew said to Jonathan. "She was open to the paranormal but still a skeptic, but you knew deep down she believed even though she knew no one else did."

"I thought she was more like Clarise Starling," Jonathan declared.

"Jodie Foster Clarise or Julianne Moore Clarise?"

"Jodie Foster of course. Still, she was no Claire Kincaid."

"You and your silly Jill Hennesey obsession."

"It's not an obsession. I just think no one can replace her on the show. I can't wait till they bring her back."

"Stop living in denial. She's dead."

"She's in a coma. The car crash didn't kill her. She can wake up at any time."

"Do you think she had an affair with Jack Mccoy?"

"No. That's sick. Sure, he slept with other assistants. But he married both of them. There's no evidence of him ever sleeping with an assistant he DIDN'T marry. So I say nothing happened between them. I always hoped Claire would get together with Mike Logan. They seemed to have real chemistry."

"Plus, he was the best bad cop. Chris Noth can work me over any day." Jonathan gave Andrew a funny look. "I mean, interrogate me. If I had to be interrogated by a police officer, real or fictitious, it would be him." There were a few seconds of silence. "I still can't believe you squealed. I hope you have fun in prison."

"I hope you've grown up by the time you get out," Jonathan retorted. He really did hope Andrew could learn to be a man and accept responsibility for his actions. He didn't believe Andrew was evil. Just immature, and therefore easily led astray by someone who really was evil.


	4. Spike and the Angel

Willow arrive ten minutes before the scheduled end of the lecture. She waited outside. She realized the lecture hall had no windows. Hartog's office was on the fifth floor. He could take an elevator up. None of the hallways on the fifth floor were exposed to sunlight. If he kept the shades drawn in his office, Hartog could make it from the podium to his office without being exposed to so much as a single ray of natural light. Not that Willow believed he was a vampire. That was too outlandish for her tastes. She was just looking for ways to cast doubt on Xander's assertions. She had not found any. She heard several hundred people get up from their desks. Now was her time to move. She entered as others left. She walked up the the professor, reaching him before any of the students. He had his right hand on a table. She reached for it and shook it forcefully.

"Willow! I didn't know you were in this class." He didn't sound nervous. His hand felt very cold. Willow gripped it tightly.

"I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened to Patrick. This must be devastating for you and for the whole department." Hartog didn't seem eager to pull his hand back. He put his left hand on her shoulder.

"Patrick told me what a tremendous student you were. He thought very highly of your abilities. This must be hard for you too."

"It's never fun to lose someone you know."

"It sure isn't. Patrick was a gifted scientist, maybe even a brilliant one. He had so much potential. I had great hopes for him. I miss him. To be honest, I still can't believe he's gone." He took his left hand and touched her cheek. "Thank you for your condolences." Then he turned around and answered a few students' questions on his way to the door. Both his hands felt cold. It was as if he wanted her to be sure. He did everything but ask her to take his pulse. She knew he enjoyed that moment. As she watched him leave, she grabbed the wooden pointer from the blackboard. She wanted to stake him herself, right there in front of everyone, so the world would know what he was. But she knew better than to give into vengeance.

"You're sure? You're positive?," Buffy asked Willow that evening.

"I didn't see him go all fangy, but I know."

"How do you know?"

"He was cold. But it was more than just that. I could see it in his eyes. Hear it in his voice. He knew that I knew, and he liked that I knew what he was. Trust me. He's our guy."

"So now we take him down," Xander suggested.

"If we could find him," Buffy noted. "He has plans. He's not going to go out looking for a fight right away. We need to know more about that company."

"Knowing where it is would be a good start," Xander offered.

"Right now all we have is a web page," Buffy responded.

That gave Willow an idea. "That's it! Hack into their computers. Get the inside scoop."

"Sounds good," Buffy concluded. "I'll go patrol. Hold it. The last few nights have been very slow. Almost nothing's been rising."

"So it's been quiet," Xander inferred. "TOO quiet."

"Something like that."

"But why would a vampire want to make your job easier?," Willow asked. "Wouldn't he want to keep you busy?"

"Maybe he's saving his strength," Buffy concluded. "Still, I have to patrol. Just in case. And just cause none are rising doesn't mean there aren't a few out feeding."

Down in Hartog's computer lab, Charles, David, Lenny and Jeff sat at their terminals, typing away. "You wanna head out soon?," Charles asked David.

"Sure. Where to?"

"Usual. Campus. Dig into a sorority girl. Beat up a football player."

"We did that the other night."

"But it's fun," Charles argued. "The college scene is getting old. Besides, Simpsons are on at 11."

"Then we'll go out afterwards." "Charles, I think you're beginning to favor quantity over quality," Lenny explained. "It's a case of diminishing marginal returns. After a while, the thrill is gone. You have to make them count. Put some time into it. And go someplace more interesting. Sunnydale's played out."

"Intruder alert. Intruder alert," Jeff announced. "Looks like we have a break-in."

"I was hoping for some action," Lenny replied.

"Always fun to have some company on a slow night," David concluded.

"Who's the snoop?," Charles asked Jeff.

"I'm getting there," Jeff said as he typed away. "Let the dance begin. This guy's got balls. 250 MHz. Laptop PC. Off the shelves."

"Kinda like trying to break into Fort Knox with a crowbar," Lenny joked.

"Did you get the IP?," Charles asked.

"Of course," Jeff answered. "Now just hold on one second while I check it out. Whom I dancing with? Come on partner. Tell me your name. Oooh. Oh yeah."

"What's his name?," David asked.

"Willow Rosenberg."

"Sounds like a girl's name," Lenny commented.

"A chick hacker!," Charles announced. "We got ourselves a chick hacker."

"Relax Romeo," David joked. "She's probably not even hot."

"Of course she is."

"There are no hot chick hackers. Except in the movies. And that X-Files episode. It's fantasy."

"What's wrong with fantasy?," Lenny asked.

"Speaking of fantasy, check her out!," Jeff exulted. They all crowded around his screen. "Back up. Get on the network, check her out yourselves. They all did this at their own computers."

"Oh baby," Charles announced.

"This can't be real," David commented.

"It's her all right," Jeff explained. "Same face to all the pictures. Matches the IP."

"Then someone else is using her computer," David argued.

"Doubt it," Charles dissented, as he looked through her high school records. "She TAUGHT computer science when she was a junior in high school. Girl must be one hot little prodigy."

"That was a few years back," Lenny noted. "I'm checking out her college transcript. She's a senior. Humanities. Pity. Wasting her talent like that. But that means she's about 22."

"Not too old. Not too young. Just right," Charles concluded.

"Like she'd even give you the time of day," Jeff joked. "Girl's out of your league." They looked at yearbook shots. Stuff from Willow's own web page. College ID photos.

"Like you're such a hit with the ladies," Charles shot back. "Get inside her already. Check out her cookies."

"Working on it," Jeff answered. "Hard drive's encrypted. Nothing too difficult."

"This girl's persistent," Lenny noted. "She's still trying."

"Probably doesn't know she's tangling with a parallel processor," David suggested. "With her hardware, it would take her 42 years to get through our firewall."

"I'll think she'll have given up by then," Lenny quipped.

"But we don't want her to hang up yet," Charles pointed out.

"Way ahead of you," Jeff explained. "When I saw how delicious our intruder was, I set up some hoops for her to jump through. Simple algorithms. The usual delaying tactics. She'll solve a few, and think she's making progress, but she'll just be running in circles. I say she keeps at it for 15 minutes before she surrenders. And in the meantime, her machine is ours."

"Go for the good stuff. Does she have a diary?," Charles asked.

"Patience Chazz. Her cookies tell quite a story. Broken into the municipal and county systems. Hacked the police department on several occasions. Big whoop. Some other kid's stuff. But check this out. Willow did the feds. US Army Special Ops. Not too shabby."

"I don't care about her resume. Get to something personal," Charles demanded.

"Chill out buddy. I'm looking. Lots of school stuff. Nothing that looks like a journal. Let's try email."

"Can't we just read her email from the server any from the server any time we want?," Lenny asked.

"Sure. But where's the fun in that?," Jeff answered. "The whole point is we get inside her while she tries to hack into us. That's the beauty of it."

"That's irony, not beauty," David pointed out.

"Whatever, anal retentive boy," Jeff huffed. "Pay dirt. Love letters. To a girl!"

"Aw man," Lenny whined. "Just our luck. One hot computer chick in this town, and she's not even into guys."

"She could be bi," David suggested.

"Doubtful," Charles remarked. "Her name keeps popping up at all these wicca sites."

"She's a witch?," Lenny asked.

"Yup. And you know what that means." "Nothing steamy," Jeff announced. "Blah blah blah soul, blah blah blah care, blah blah love. Who writes dirty emails anyway? I knew we'd find nothing."

"Do we cut her loose then?," David asked. "I wonder what kind of a vampire she'd be," Lenny mused.

"Probably not one who would hang around with us," David answered.

"I don't know about that," Charles countered. "Maybe she likes being around other smart people."

"Smart people don't always make smart vampires," Jeff noted. "Remember Jared?" "Of course I do," Lenny answered. "We were attacked together. He got drunk on his new strength and just ran amok. Completely lost his head."

"Literally," Jeff added. "Or so I heard. Did he really stick his head through the sunroof and get decapitated by a low bridge?"

"Sure did," Lenny answered. "Some people can't handle the transformation. That's why I don't sire. Cool people can make such disappointing vampires."

"That's no reason to stop trying," Charles argued. "In fact, it's why I sire so many. Then at least you get a few good ones."

"I thought it was a power thing with you?," Jeff asked Charles. "Having minions to do your bidding. Don't care for minions myself. Too much responsibility. There we go. Left our new friend Willow with a little message. She can't trace it. But she knows that we know what she's up to."

"Do we crash her system?," David asked.

"Too obvious," Charles answered.

"Let's just leave her twisting in the wind," Lenny suggested.

"Just what I had in mind," Jeff concurred. "Switch off the games. Soon she'll realize she can't break the real code and give up."

"How's it going Will?," Xander asked.

"Not too well. I got nothing. This guy's locked down tighter than the Initiative." She froze for a few seconds.

"What is it Willow?" "I can't believe I forget about that."

"Forgot what?" "I have a date with Zooey tonight."

Willow ran upstairs and called Zooey.

"Zooey, I am so, so sorry. I had to meet with a professor, and it was at the last minute, and I am so sorry."

"Stuff comes up with you. I get that."

"Zooey I feel absolutely horrible about this. If there's anything I can do - "

"How bout tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow's good. Tomorrow's perfect."

"Just make sure you remember this time."

"I will. I hate going this long without seeing you. But the night's still young. Could I come over tonight?"

"So you want to skip the date and go straight for the sex."

"I didn't mean that."

"Not like I don't think the sex is spectacular."

"Spectacular would be an understatement."

"I know Will. But if I make an exception this time it'll soon become a pattern. I want more than that."

"And I do too. You know that. I love all the time we spend together. Even the times when we're not naked. Tomorrow night then. Can't wait." Willow walked back into the dining room. She felt guilty for standing up Zooey. And guiltier still for being unable to tell her the truth. That was the problem with dating outsiders. But it certainly wasn't reason enough to give up someone as wonderful as Zooey. Having Zooey around made the stress caused by the rest of her life bearable.

"That's it," Xander told Willow. "Remember what you did to the Initiative? You took down the power grid to make them vulnerable. Wouldn't that completely disrupt what this guy's doing?"

"Probably. But then what?"

"We flush him out. Force him to go on the offensive."

"There has to be an easier way to find this guy without inconveniencing tens of thousands of people. Of course. Why didn't I think of this earlier? His house! I got the address right here with all the other background stuff."

"He keeps his job. He keeps his life. He keeps his house? That sounds a little too conspicuous."

"Pretty pricey neighborhood. .75 acre plot. Which means in the daytime it would be like a prison for him. But that's even better. He'll be gone during the day, and we can go in. We need information. Where else can we look?"

Next afternoon, Buffy, Willow and Xander went to Hartog's house. They had done this sort of thing plenty of times before. "How do we get in?," Xander asked.

"Through the front door," Buffy answered. "Just wait one moment." She leaped on the roof of the garage, then jumped onto the roof of the two-story house. She walked over to the chimney, and jumped down into it. Hartog had never used the chimney, which was lucky for Buffy, since it meant she didn't get covered in soot. She landed in the fireplace and stepped out into the living room. "Eat you heart out, Santa." Buffy walked out into the hallway and opened the front door. "Come on in." Willow and Xander entered. The furniture was covered in dust.

"Looks like the cleaning lady stopped coming," Xander observed.

"Certainly lacks that homey lived-in feel," Buffy added. "I'll take the basement. Willow, you go upstairs. Xander, you search this floor."

"What are we looking for?," Xander asked Buffy.

"Documents, computer disks, anything that could be connected to his work or could tell us where he does his work." They split up. Buffy turned on the downstairs lights and entered the basement. There was an exercise room with a stationary bike, a bench and a few weights. A large space with an extensive network of model train tracks and numerous model trains. Clearly this guy had been a big customer for Lionel. In the corner was a large freezer laid along the ground. Buffy opened it. It was empty, but it looked like this could have been where he stored Patrick. That sent a chill down her spine. Hartog could have been watching his trains go round the tracks while putting away Patrick's body. Near the water heater and furnace were a number of storage boxes on shelves. She started looking through them.

Two stories up, Willow found nothing incriminating in his bedroom. She checked his office and its computer. Perhaps there was something there. While she did this, Xander combed the first floor. Checked out the bookshelves, but didn't find anything of note. Looked through his file cabinets, which seemed mostly to contain old financial records. Then he decided to check the kitchen. Maybe something was hidden there. The refrigerator held a few pints of blood. Aside from being a little disturbing, this told Xander Hartog went to his house at least occasionally. As he looked through the kitchen drawers, he heard someone outside yelling.

"Police! Open up!" He realized there were at the front door.

"This is the police! Come out with your hands up!" That was from the back door, which was near the kitchen. He opened the door to the basement.

"Buffy, don't come up here. Get out now!" Then he ran to the stairs.

"Willow, get out! Someone's here!" Realizing the front door was unlocked, two cops entered, guns drawn and pointed at Xander. He put his hands up in shock.

"Xander, did you say something?," Willow asked as she came to the stairs. She saw the cops. One went up the stairs to get her. She put her hands up and came down. Like Xander, she was terrified. The two other officers had entered through the back door. They had seen Xander speak to someone in the basement. So they went down to pursue. Buffy heard the intruders. She assumed they were demons, and try to hide in order to ambush them.

"This the the police! Come out where I can see you with your hands up!" Buffy saw them. They sure didn't look like demons. And they had guns. Not much she could do other than surrender.

Buffy, Xander and Willow were booked at the Sunnydale police station. They couldn't believe what was happening. Yes, they knew they were committing a crime. But they'd broken into plenty of other places without getting in trouble. Besides, this guy was a demon. It would have been ridiculous if it wasn't so frustrating. What they had not known was that Hartog had an anti-burglary system with heat sensors. Even though Buffy and her friends entered without jimmying a lock or breaking a window, their body heat gave them away. The alarm was silent, and immediately alerted the Sunnydale police that a robbery was in progress.

It took couple hours for their paperwork to be processed. All the while they had to sit there in handcuffs. Then they were uncuffed and put in two adjacent jail cells. "This is a nightmare," Xander said. "This is an absolute nightmare. They're treating us like common criminals."

"Well, we were kind of committing a common crime," Willow answered. "Although there were extenuating circumstances of the sort we can't tell the officers about." Buffy was sullen and quiet. She had been in this police station. Ever since she was busted for arson in Los Angeles, she had been dogged by the specter of juvenile delinquency, by the risk her Slayer duties would cause her to be mistaken for a violent criminal. Being being bars just brought back all those bad memories: of her first expulsion, of moving, of being investigated for murder. More than death, her worst fear had always been confinement in an insane asylum or a prison.

Xander and Willow had no such precarious history to haunt them. This was their first run-in with the law. All three of them were worried. But while Buffy manifested her worry in reticent depression, Willow and Xander manifested theirs in loquacious hyperactivity.

"Excuse me! Can we make a phone call? I thought we get one phone call?," Xander asked the officer at the nearest desk.

"In a couple minutes," she replied.

"They can't hold us like this," Xander added.

"Of course not. We have rights," Willow added.

"Why can't we just leave on bail or something?," Xander asked.

"Oh no. I have plans tonight. With Zooey!"

"And I have a date with Elise! This is a disaster." Buffy couldn't believe how petty her friends were acting.

"I have to call her," Willow responded.

"I have to call her too. Elise. Not Zooey. Okay, we each get one phone call. Who do we call?"

"Dawn and Anya would be my choices," Buffy answered. "I bet they'd want to know where we are. Plus they could help with bail, lawyers, the sort of stuff we need right now."

"What do we need lawyers for?," Xander asked.

"We're charged with a felony."

This was the first time Xander had taken the charges seriously. "I'll lose my job. I'll lose my union card. I'll have to go back to driving that ice cream truck. I'll be ruined!"

"Let's not lose hope," Willow counseled. "We're gonna get out of this. One problem. What do I tell Zooey? What do you tell Elise? 'Sorry honey. I can't make it tonight. I'm in jail.' Not exactly the sort of thing you want to hear from someone you're dating."

"That's true. She'll think I've got problems. That I'm a criminal. But I have to tell her something."

Buffy had a question. "If you two are going to use your calls to lie to your honeys, then we only have one phone call to reach someone who can actually come and help us."

"Right. You call Dawn," Xander suggested.

"And if she's not home?"

"Leave her a message. It's a school night. She'll be home."

"Then how will she come to help us? She can't drive."

"Then you call Anya," Willow suggested.

"What if she's out with Sterling?," Buffy asked. "Then we've wasted our one shot."

"How bout this?," Xander began. "You call Dawn. She'll call Anya."

"And if Dawn's home but Anya's not?," Buffy asked.

"What's with all the hypotheticals?," Xander asked.

"They don't need to be hypotheticals. I call Dawn, and one of you calls Anya."

"So then one of us has to stand up our date," Xander noted.

"There are bigger things at stake," Buffy responded.

"Zooey and Elise are best friends," Willow remembered. "I call Zooey, tell her to tell Elise you can't make it."

"Yeah, but then I look like a jerk," Xander argued.

"Fine. I see where your priorities are," Buffy conceded. You call your honeys. Make up some story. I'll call Dawn." Willow said she had a take-home exam due the next day. Xander said he hurt his back at the construction site and needed to take it easy tonight. Dawn was home. She was less shocked than Buffy predicted. But Dawn had long ago grown accustomed to Buffy getting in trouble. Dawn dutifully called Anya, who came over to see them.

"This is an outrage!," she announced when she saw them. "I'll get you the best lawyer I can find. They're not gonna get away with this. I mean, you'll get away with this. They won't get away with punishing you. What's your bail set at? I can get you a bail bond." She went to the front desk. "Excuse me. What is their bail? I want to free them."

"No bail."

"What! You're just going to hold them?"

"No bail until they are arraigned. No arraignment until tomorrow morning. Then bail will be set."

"And in the meantime they'll be imprisoned without being charged with anything?"

"Yes."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes we can."

"But it's unconstitutional. And downright un-american. It's bolshevism, I tell ya."

"Legally we can't hold them for more than 48 hours without charging them with something. They were brought in less than 8 hours ago."

Buffy and Willow were in one cell. Xander was in the other cell to their right. There were only bars between the two cells, so they could easily communicate. While Anya was talking to the officer at the front desk, another man was put in Xander's cell. He was big and tall, with a large belly, long hair under a bandana, and thick stubble on his chin and neck. He wore a leather motorcycle jacket. Xander's new cell mate frightened him. He stopped talking. He sat on a bench against the back wall well away from where the biker was standing. After about an hour, the biker took off his jacket. He walked over to Xander. Xander trembled. The biker put his jacket down on the bench and went back to standing on the other side of the cell. It didn't seem like he wanted to make conversation. It also didn't seem like he wanted to bully Xander. But Xander didn't want to take that chance. He stayed mute and meek and with his back to the wall.

Realizing she could do nothing that evening, Anya left. Sterling was at her place, and she hated to keep him waiting. Worrying about her friends wasn't going to help them that night. So she forgot about them and went back to being ensconced in romantic bliss. Xander was too nervous to sleep. Willow too jumpy. Buffy just sat there, thinking about Hartog, about how that night the town was defenseless against vampires, wondering if she'd be bailed out in time to make her shift in the morning. Around 3 am, Spike entered. No one was expecting to see him.

Only two officers were on duty. They didn't feel like trying to prevent Spike from going to the jail cells. After all, they had the keys, so he couldn't do anything. "Well, well, well. I always knew you three were up to no good."

"Did Anya tell you?," Buffy asked.

"I was checking the police blotter. Seeing if there were any crimes of the sort we worry about. Happened to catch your names in the box score. Officer, I say you throw the bloody book at them. They're nothing but trouble." He was having fun with this. Then he saw Xander's cell mate. Now he was going to have some real fun. "Hey there mate. Name's Spike. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Merle." It was the first time Xander heard his cellmate talk.

"Like old Hag?," Spike asked, referring to Merle Haggard.

"You a fan?"

"How could I not be?" Then Spike started the sing. Merle joined in after the first line:

"The warden led a prisoner down the hallway to his doom

and I stood up to say goodbye like all the rest.

And I heard him tell the warden just before he reached my cell

let my guitar-playing friend do my request.

Let him sing me back home with the song I used to hear.

Make my old memories come alive.

And take me away, and turn back the years.

Sing me back home before I die."

Buffy, Willow and Xander were positively stupefied, watching Spike sing a country song with the biker. It appeared to them Spike had gone nuts. Spike knew the song from a rock version done by Graham Parsons. Parsons died young, and his manager stole his casket from the funeral home, took it out to the desert, and burned the body. Spike had always found that suspicious. And Spike could identify with mournful songs about murderers, since he was one himself.

"Never reckoned someone who looked and sounded like yourself would have a soft spot of Ol' Hag," Merle told Spike.

"I've always had a soft spot for outlaws."

"And us outlaws have soft spot for Hag cause he's one of us." Merle started singing again. Spike knew about half the words and mumbled along with the rest:

"I turned 21 in prison doing life without parole

no one could steer me right but mama tried, mama tried

mama tried to raise me better but her pleading I denied

that leaves only me to blame cause mama tried."

"You ain't half bad," Merle told Spike. Spike looked over the tattoos on Merle's shoulders and arms.

"Merle, were you at the 50th Independence Day Rally in Hollister back in '97?"

"You were there!?"

"Was I there? I was the reason they called in the cops!" Both of them laughed. Hollister was a biker town in northern California where on July 4th thousands of bikers come every year to party and cause mayhem. Spike went for the mayhem. It was on the way to Sunnydale, where he headed that fall. Plus, amidst the lawlessness and the brawls between rival biker gangs, Spike could get in a fair amount of killing before anyone noticed.

"Those were great times," Merle responded.

"You're one of the Angels, aren't you?," Spike asked, referring to the biker gang, several of whose members Spike beat up and killed that July 4th weekend.

"Sure am."

"An ANGEL! Well isn't that something. Xander sharing a cell with an ANGEL." Spike was revelling in the pun.

"He got a problem with the Angels?," Merle asked Spike. Xander was worried.

"Just one ANGEL. And he's not even one of yours. Let's just say he's an angel who never got his wings." Spike and Merle started laughing. Xander, Willow and Buffy didn't understand what was so funny. Lucky for them, they didn't know what it means for a Hell's Angel to "Get His Wings." The joke had nothing to do with Angel specifically. It was merely a pun. Although, since Spike knew how a Hell's Angel got his wings, he knew it was an extremely sick pun.

After about 20 seconds Merle stopped laughing. "So this 'Angel' couldn't get it done with the ladies?"

"In a manner of speaking," Spike responded with a smirk.

Merle looked at Xander. "No wonder you didn't respect the guy." What Merle was saying and what Xander thought he was saying were completely different. Merle's comments had nothing at all to do with Perfect Happiness or a Curse, even though they sounded to Xander like they did. As perplexed as Xander was by Spike's behavior, he was relieved that Merle was cool with him.

Spike walked over to the nearest officer and picked up the arrest report. "What did they do this time? Attempted Burglary! That's serious." He read on. "I don't see anything about a burglary. Or breaking. Says 'no sign forced entry.' Means all ya got is trespassing, which isn't even worth bothering with."

"It is if one of them has priors."

"And none of them do."

"Miss Summers does. She has quite a record."

"Not as an adult." Spike had known lived continuously in Sunnydale since she was 18, and he couldn't remember so much as an arrest during that time. "Anything she did before that is sealed. You can't use any of it. You're not even supposed to look at it. What's that called? Police misconduct. You'll be in more trouble than her. You're better off letting her go right now before anyone finds out."

"What are you, a lawyer?"

"Do I look like a barrister?"

"Then you must be a criminal."

"Former criminal, you might say. Don't bother opening a file on me. Statute of Limitation's run out on all my crimes. Like I said, keeping them is more trouble than it's worth." Spike read on. "And trust me, this guy is not going to press charges. That I can guarantee." Then he walked over to Buffy's cell. He motioned for her to come to the bars.

"That your vampire? I know him. I've met him. We'll talk." Then Spike walked away. "Nice meeting you Merle," he said before heading out.

"Your friend's pretty cool," Merle said to Xander. Xander was about to tell Merle he wasn't Spike's friend, but realized that would be idiotic. He just nodded.


	5. A whole new world of trouble

[Don't worry. The next chapter will be nothing but warm, wet Spuffy goodness. I promise. But first I have to close a plot thread.

Around 5:30, shortly before sunrise, Heindrick Hartog entered the police station. Willow couldn't believe her eyes. "That's him," she whispered to Buffy and Xander. Hartog went first to the front desk. He talked with the officer there for about five minutes, filled out some papers, then went to talk to the officer near the cells.

"I'm sorry if there was a misunderstanding. Willow is a student of mine. I told her to get some papers from my home office. I thought the alarm was off. I apologize for wasting your time like this, officers. Like I said, just a big mix-up. Boy is my face red." He turned to Willow. "I hope you can forgive me." Then he walked out and disappeared. The cells opened, and they got out. Buffy wanted to give chase. But the three of them had to sign out and claim a few personal items before they could leave. But then Hartog was long gone.

"I hate being set up," Buffy said as they walked outside.

"How did he know we'd go to his house?," Xander asked.

"He didn't know," Willow answered. "He just knew it was a possibility."

"And you know what I hate most?," Xander began. "HE'S the one who gets us out. HE gets to act like a good citizen. And he's not even a citizen. He's a vampire!"

"I know," Buffy replied. "He just doesn't think like one." Xander and Willow went to bed and got a few hours sleep. Buffy stayed up. Knowing that he was out there, that for a moment he was just a few feet away, and she couldn't attack him was exceedingly frustrating. She hated feeling angry and useless. She had to do something to move the investigation forward. So she went to talk to Spike. It was 9:30, so she didn't expect him to be awake. But he was.

"Couldn't sleep last night," he told her. "Neither could you, I bet."

"Is this your way of telling me you were worried?"

"It wasn't cause you were locked up. Well, it kind of was. I knew you couldn't patrol, so I went out to do what I could. Town was quiet. No trouble anywhere. Almost felt like this wasn't the Hellmouth."

"It's been like that all week," Buffy remarked. "Calm before the storm."

"There's always a storm. Speaking of which, I've met your vampire."

"Go on. I'm listening."

"You don't seem too eager."

"I'm tired. Just tell me what you know."

"Met him last April at Willy's."

"Ten months ago? He was a vampire that far back?"

"Of course. A new one. Talked like a new one. Brimming with confidence and contempt for the older vamps. I'll give him this — he did his homework. Talked my ear off about my attempts to kill you. Tried to explain where I had gone wrong. Said after I got the gem of Amara I should have spent the day avoiding you, running around town massacring helpless innocents and making you chase me. Then fight you at night when you're worn-out and frustrated. Which actually was a good point. Kept saying he would succeed where I failed. Wanted to run his ideas by me."

"And you gave him pointers?"

"Of course not. You know I couldn't. Told him if he was as smart as he claimed he'd get out of town before you killed him. That's the only advice I gave. Told him to give it up."

"Why didn't you stake him?"

"In public? In a demon bar? You've to be kidding."

"So how did he say he planned to kill me?"

"Nothing specific. Just lots of general rules and principles he concocted. Big thing seemed to be using brains not brawn. Makes sense, cause he's not big in the brawn department. Oh, and he talked a lot about your friends."

"Which ones. Willow? Did he mention Dawn?"

"I don't think he knew their names. He just referred to them as 'Buffy's friends' or 'the Slayer's companions.' He said he would never fight you when your friends were around. He only wanted to fight you alone. But he didn't seem big on that either. Talked a lot about indirect warfare. Avoiding confrontation. Using tricks. Surprising you. I didn't take him too seriously. He sounded like a blowhard. What did he do to get in your crosshairs?"

"He killed Patrick."

"Pat was a good bloke. And bloody brilliant. That's why he was killed, right?"

"Seems to be the reason."

"So now we have to take the blowhard seriously." Spike looked worried.

"Is they're something you're not telling me?"

"He didn't just say that he wouldn't fight you if you were with your friends. He said 'if the Slayer's with her companions, kill the companions.' He figured he could take out one of them and flee before you could get to him. Or he could have another vampire fight you as a diversion while he offed one of them. That's what he meant by indirect warfare."

"So he's a coward."

"Perhaps. Or maybe he's just smart. Speaking of which, he didn't say this, but considering how much scouting he's done, he must have known that I talked to you. So he should have anticipated that I would tell you what he told me. That would mean he only told me what he wanted you to know. So take it with a grain of whatever."

"I'll just take it, cause right now it's all I've got."

"Buffy. Remember back when that cop was going to arrest you, and I knocked him out?"

"You mean in the middle of the lousiest night of my life?"

"Would have been a lot lousier without me. First time we worked together. It's funny and tragic and absurd how much has changed since then. I love you Buffy. If anything ever happened to you again, I couldn't go on." Then Spike paused. He couldn't think of anything to add. After a few seconds of silence, Buffy left. Spike had wanted to make his big plea for them to get back together. But it didn't come out right.

Hartog stood before his assembled vampires. "The average human body contains 10 pints of blood. A vampire needs to drink 1 pint a day to live, 2 pints if the vampire plans on doing a lot of fighting that day. In exceptional cases, a vampire can drink 4 pints from a single human victim. Most of the time, a vampire drinks 2 pints before it is full. This means a single vampire must kill at least 4 humans a week to live. 20 vampires must kill at least 80 humans a week, and more than 300 a month. This is why it is impossible to assemble large numbers of our kind in a single place for any meaningful period of time. This is why we cannot concentrate our forces to defeat our demon and human enemies. We roam the globe in small, scattered bands, isolated and weak.

"The solution is obvious. When a human wants a steak, he does not go out and kill a cow, rip out a piece of meat, and leave the carcass to rot. Why should we? Why don't we drink all 10 pints? Instead of killing to live, why not merely kill for sport, for enjoyment, and gain our sustenance from more reliable methods? And that is what I have done. Capture the human. Drain them. Store the blood for later. Build up reserves which can feed dozens of vampires if need be. Under my system, 1 victim feeds 10 vampires for 1 day. The represents a ten-fold increase in productivity. Although this idea is simple, it is also paradoxical. After all, it results in the killing of FEWER humans. That's the opposite of what we're about. But you must overcome instinct to achieve greatness. We are not here merely to live. We are here to conquer, to dominate, to rule."

Patrick's body was discovered on Monday night. Hartog became a suspect on Tuesday night. Willow saw him Wednesday morning. She failed to hack into his company's computer system Wednesday night. They spent Thursday night in jail. Friday night Hartog failed to show. Buffy killed one vampire and two demons. It was rare for her to encounter demons on patrol. On Saturday she had lunch in her kitchen with Willow and Xander. Dawn came rushing in.

"By the way, I'm going to the mall with Janice and Brandon, if that's cool with you, Buffy."

"Sure. Just try to be back before sundown."

"That's quite the curfew."

"I just want to play it safe until we know more about our new vamp."

"You mean the one that killed Patrick. I understand." Buffy was worried that Hartog might avoid her while she was patrolling and attack Dawn and her friends before Buffy could come to save them. She was afraid of the unknown, and right now she knew almost nothing about Hartog and his group.

"Is Elijah coming?," Buffy asked hopefully as part of her Anyone But Connor campaign.

"He's at all-state jazz band tryouts."

"Of course. I forgot how creative and brilliant he was. You still see him, right?"

"Eli's great. We're like best buds." Hearing this upset Buffy.

"So how are Brandon and Janice doing?," Willow asked. "Are they still together?"

"Only constantly. They're like joined at the hip. Which is nice, because for a while they were joined at other parts."

"I knew those two kids had a future," Xander proudly declared. "You might say I'm the one who gave them that future."

"What are you talking about?," Dawn asked.

"He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Why they got together all of a sudden."

Willow explained. "Xander played Cupid. Except without the wings, or the weapons, or the toga."

Xander elaborated. "At the Homecoming Dance, I saw how Brandon wanted you, and you didn't want him, and how Janice was upset Brandon wanted you, and how Janice being upset made Brandon upset. So I decided to help. Took the boy aside. Told him you needed him as a friend, not a boyfriend. Suggested he give Janice a chance before it was too late. Guess I'm getting pretty good at changing people's lives with my words."

"I had no idea," Dawn marveled. "That's amazing."

"Xander, that was so sweet!," Buffy gushed as she hugged him. She noticed the obvious parallel to Xander's own high school experience.

"Hey, if I knew you'd hug me every time I told a guy not to hit on your sister, I would have started a long time ago."

"How did you know?," Dawn asked.

"Boy and a girl, alone at a dance. It seemed like the logical thing to do."

"Maybe you missed your calling as a guidance counselor," Buffy joked.

"I waited a long time to get out of school. Not too eager to go back." The doorbell rang.

"That must be them," Dawn said. Before answering it, she hugged Xander.

"It's a good day to be me," he quipped.

"Thanks," Dawn told him. "And I'm sure Janice would thank you, if she knew. It was a nice thing you did for them." She went to the door.

"Speaking of nice things, I'm off to go rollerblading with Elise."

"I didn't know you rollerbladed?," Buffy asked.

"I don't. Hopefully, I will. After missing the other night, and not seeing her for a few weeks, I have a lot of making up to do." Xander walked out the back door and towards his car in the driveway. He saw Dawn with Janice and Brandon. Being reminded of how he helped Brandon learn from his own mistake reminded Xander what that mistake had been. Both cars pull out of the driveway.

"Speaking of making up, I think I should call Zooey, maybe see if we can get together," Willow told Buffy a few minutes later. She walked to the front of the hallway and started to go up the stairs when there was a knock at the door. She turned around to answer it. It was Spike. There were a few seconds of tense silence.

"Buffy it's for you." Willow went upstairs.

"Willow. I'm - "

"Don't try it. Not right now," she interrupted, before heading to her room. Buffy walked to the door.

"Can I come in?"

"Let's talk on the porch." She came out. "He didn't show."

"That's not why I'm here." She knew what that meant. "I can't go on like this. I wanted to prove I could live without you, see if I could escape your world. Now I know I can. But also know I don't want to. I leave you, and I become dead again inside. I don't deserve your forgiveness. I certainly don't deserve you love. And I might not deserve another chance. But I love you, and I - "

Buffy abruptly cut him off. "Fine. You got your chance."

Spike momentarily fell to he knees in shock. He had barely gotten halfway through his big speech. He didn't even have to resort to begging. "You mean that? We're back together?"

"Next Friday. I'll see you then."

"Huh?"

"We've always been too impulsive. That's why we always end in disaster. We never think things through."

Spike was even more stunned than before. He stood up and paced back and forth. "We need a cooling off period? I'm a boyfriend, not a bloody handgun!"

"I came to you. You said you needed time. Turned out you needed more than a month. You come to me. I say I need six days. If you can wait more than a month, you can easily wait six more days."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Just to remind you what life will be like if you screw up again."

"Don't you trust me?"

"The problem is I don't trust myself. I love you. Sometimes I wish I didn't. But I do, even when I hate you. I'm not afraid you'll hurt me again. I'm afraid you'll hurt me again, and I'll let you come back. Then you'll know you can get away with it. I'll hate you. And I'll hate myself even more. But I won't be able to push you away. I need to make sure than doesn't happen. This is the easiest way I know how."

"Buffy, with us - "

"Nothing is ever easy. I remember when you said that. I didn't say it was easy. I said it was less painful than the alternatives. If you really want this to be a long-term thing, what does six days matter?"

"Maybe the world will end next Thursday. Then won't you feel stupid?"

"For me, saving the world's a lot easier than dating."

"You have a point there. Fine. I'll play by your sodding rules. You want to go power tripping, be my guest. If you want to see me, you know where I'm easily found." Spike shook his head and walked away. He knew she deserved payback, and that's what he figured this was. He chose to leave her, so she resolved to chose when she'd take him back. Still, he thought they had moved beyond such mind games.

Willow and Zooey were walking down the street together. "I need to tell you the truth," Willow began. "I didn't miss our date because of school work. I missed our date because, well, because I was in jail."

"Oooh. I'm in love with a bad girl. I like it. The danger. The mystery. There wasn't an attractive cellmate whom you let overpower you, right?"

"No." Willow laughed. "My cellmate was Buffy."

"Who is attractive."

"And who could overpower me, but wouldn't. You know she's not like that."

"Yeah. I remember how freaked she was when I complimented her on her looks. She doesn't strike me as the wild type. So you two are partners in crime?"

"Xander was also there."

"Of course. You're like the Three Musketeers. All for one and one for all."

"The charges were dropped. I was a big misunderstanding. But we didn't get out until the next morning. I was just too ashamed to tell you the truth."

"You were embarrassed. I get that." They walked past the Magic Box. Zooey saw Anya with Sterling. "Wanna drop in, say hi?" They entered.

"How are my two favorite lesbians doing today?," Anya asked with her characteristic lack of tact.

Zooey looked around. "Oh! You were referring to me!," she joked. "I'm honored. You keeping Sterl happily whipped?"

"Honey, I didn't know you were into bondage," Anya told Sterling. "Oh. I just realized that was a metaphor."

"Yes she is," Sterling said, answering Zooey's question. "Very happily."

"Come here sweetie," Anya said before kissing Sterling. "Sterl and went house-hunting this morning."

"But you already have your own place," Willow noted.

"I rent. It's not my own place because I don't own it," Anya explained. "We're looking for someplace to buy. We saw this charming house on Allen Street, near Crawford. Was it Gothic Revival?"

"Queen Anne, Late Victorian," Sterling answered. "Three stories, turreted tower. Kind of decrepit though."

"It's certainly a fixer-upper," Anya added. "But it still has its original stained glass, and marble fireplaces, and stenciled ceilings. Shouldn't be too hard to fix up. My honey-bunny seems to be great with tools."

"Also it's really cheap, even after factoring in maintenance costs," Sterling noted. "Houses around here are remarkably inexpensive. I can get 3,000 square feet here for the cost of 1,500 square feet in Oceanside."

"Everyone always says Sunnydale is like a suburban ghetto," Zooey pointed out. "You know, the sort of place people say they're afraid to go to after dark."

"Probably because of our alarmingly high death rate and large numbers of unsolved murders," Anya said without thinking. "Baby, maybe we should look at other towns. This place has its charms, but it's not where I'd want to raise my children."

"Your children?," a surprised Willow asked. "You're going to be a mother?"

"Not right away. Sometime down the road. After my business becomes more secure. Right now I'm thinking of expanding. I want to open a second store near the campus. College-age women are where the growth is in this market, but we're four miles away, and no one has moved into that vacuum. I picture something with coffee and comfy chairs and wicca-for-dummies books — a hangout for the dilettantes. I figure that for ever serious practicing wicca there are 10 dilettantes who view witchcraft as some new-agey female-empowering lifestyle choice. They're suckers, and I want to take their money before someone else does."

"You may be onto something there," Willow replied from experience. "Though that doesn't sound like a store I'd like to hang out in."

"There would still be this place. It would be a two-tiered system. This Magic Box for those who have a clue, college-town Magic Box for those who don't."

"Does this mean you're planning on franchising?," Willow wondered.

"I don't have sufficient lines of credit to do that. My plan is to have half-a-dozen shops in the Southern California region, all directly owned by me and at least five of them run by hired help. At that point my business will be large enough to achieve the economies of scale at the wholesale purchase level which can ensure the obscenely robust profit margins that will provide us with financial security. Then we start a family."

"My goodness," Zooey marveled. "You're like Martha Stewart, except hot and not evil and totally uninhibited. Which would mean you're nothing like Martha Stewart. It was just — Wow — I'd never seen such unbridled capitalist energy up close before."

"She loves the money," Sterling noted.

"Not as much as I love you, baby," Anya said before kissing him again. "If I had to chose, you or the money, I'd chose you Sterl. You're not going to make me choose? Right? Please say you won't."

"No Ani. Never. It's a part of who you are. And I love everything about you." He kissed her.

"Good grief, you are whipped," Zooey joked. "Lucky ducky."

After putting Spike on the back burner, Buffy spent Saturday night patrolling. Nothing was rising. No vamps were hanging around the graveyards. None to be found on the playgrounds. She headed to the Bronze. There were none inside. She did find two outside, and took her time finishing them off. Vampires had been so rare as of late that she wanted to make the slaying count. As she strolled the streets and checked out the caves, she wondered where Hartog was. A vampire hadn't given her the slip like this since Angelus moved to his mansion.

On Sunday night, in an abandoned garage along the railroad tracks, three young vampires sat on a couch, hunched over a single victim. Hartog entered their lair. "Are the pickings really that slim?," he asked.

"What do you want, old man? Get your own place."

"You thought I actually wanted this shack for myself?" He chuckled. "Relax. I came bearing gifts." He pulled out two teenage girls. They were gagged and had their hands bound behind their backs. He tossed them to the trio. "Sharing is beneath our dignity. We're not scavengers. I found these two ten miles to the South, in Leucadia. One of the hundreds of towns in the Golden State without a Slayer." He noticed they were too busy feeding to listen, so he turned on the television, fiddled with the antenna, and flipped through the channels. "Hey, Frontline's on. No wait, it's a repeat." He flipped through the channels some more. "This is why you need cable. Nothing's on."

The three vamps finished feeding. "Thanks pops. What's your game?"

"Why such slim pickings?"

"We're not stupid. We gotta watch our backs."

"You mean you have to make sure you don't get staked by the Slayer."

"Of course. Where have you been?" "So you gentleman are smart enough to stay off the Slayer's radar screen, but not smart enough to leave her town? Why do you live in Sunnydale?"

"That's where we've always lived."

"It's where everyone goes. Vampire central."

"That's the other problem. Too many vampires, too few victims. We bleed this town white. Forgive the mixed metaphor, but why not head to greener pastures? Someplace where you can eat as much as you want, whenever you want?"

"We ain't got no wheels."

"Then why don't you steal some? Lurk around a parking lot late at night. When someone walks to their car, you kill them and steal it."

"That's a cool plan."

"But we'd have to wait around for someone to come out. And we'd attract attention and the Slayer could get us."

"That's why you do it in another town."

"But how do we get there? Ever think of that?"

"I will solve the chicken-and-egg dilemma by driving you someplace Slayerless. Then you can settle down, or steal whatever wheels you like. Live care-free off the fat of the land. Like vampires are supposed to. Won't be hard to find something better than this dump."

"Why are you doing this? What's your interest in us? I hope you don't expect us to thank you in some disgusting way. Cause that ain't gonna happen."

"I'll drive you 10, 20 miles down the road, let you out, and probably never see you again. I don't care about you three. I care about vampires. I care about making sure the Slayer kills as few of us as possible. Now let's go. It's painfully obvious you have nothing to lose."

Dawn raced upstairs at 6:30 am Monday morning. "Buffy!!! Willow!!! Come down now! You gotta see this. Jonathan and Andrew are in prison!!" There were both bleary-eyed and annoyed by Dawn's perkiness. But when they heard those names they knew it was worth getting out of bed. Both had pled guilty. Jonathan was sentenced to 1 to 5 years. Andrew was sentenced to 5 to 10 years. Warren's death was declared accidental.

"Explains why that lady came round here last week," Willow remarked.

"Guess it's over," Buffy said. "Legally speaking."

That afternoon, Willow went to see Jonathan. They talked through plexiglass. "This is a surprise. My parents haven't even visited. Nice to see a familiar face."

"So you turned yourself in and ratted out Andrew?"

"It was the least I can do. Literally. I snuck across the border and did a locator spell. Once I knew where Warren's remains were, I led the police to them. I came up with the accidental death story a few months back. No way for them to prove it wrong."

"I probably should frown on lying in a court of law. But somehow in this instance I can't."

"Ever since we left town, I wanted to do it. But I knew they wouldn't give me a deal if I couldn't get them Warren. I just wanted it all to end. Without causing you any trouble, of course. You've been through enough already. I'm sorry about Tara. I feel somewhat responsible. I should have known better. I had my crisis of conscience about nine months too late. I think of Tara and Katrina and I know I have innocent blood on my hands."

"So do I."

"Not innocent blood. It wasn't wrong what you did to Warren. It was wrong what you did to yourself."

"Something else we have in common. The magic abuse. Using it to get what we want the easy way."

"We were different. I was selfish. I used spells to help myself. You used magic to help others. You just became too good, too powerful."

"You didn't exactly always walk the straight and narrow. But Jonathan, whatever mistakes you made, you always came through in the end."

"I know. That was my problem. I should have come through at the beginning. Don't know why it took prison to make me realize that."

"At least now you can start over. Although you're not starting from the nicest of places. You scared?"

"A little. I'm in minimum security. Benefits of squealing. Also, it's obvious to them I don't pose much of a danger to the other inmates."

"Probably the only one who'll have it in for you is Andrew, on account of you putting him here."

"We're going to different places. He'll be in medium security. A real prison, but not an Oz or Attica hardcore prison. He still doesn't realize that what he did was wrong. He needs to grow up. Then again, so do I."

"At least you accept responsibility."

"Right. I know that trying to be a super-criminal was wrong. Yeah me. Should have known that all along. This may sound sick, but I'm glad I'm being punished. It makes me feel better about myself."

"I've been there once or twice. I know the feeling."

"Thanks again for coming here, Willow. It really does mean a lot. How are you doing?"

"A whole lot better than the last time you saw me. I've slowly put my life back together. I had people to help me."

"I heard that can help. Tell Buffy and Xander I say hi. And that I'm sorry. For everything."

"You can tell them yourself when you get out."

"If they want to speak to me."

"They will. They've had a lot of practice with forgiving."


	6. Finally! Warm and wet Spuffy goodness

Monday evening, around dinner time, Willow had news. "Buffy, I found something interesting from Hartog's past. It's not much, but it may help us with a timeline. There was a biology doctoral candidate named Jennifer Holcomb. She was murdered last February. Neck trauma. I checked her academic record and she was in two of Hartog's seminars."

"That pushes the time line pretty far back."

"I know. He did take a sabbatical last Spring. That could have been why. I checked and she's the only biology grad student to have died under mysterious circumstances in the past five years."

"He must have killed her for a reason. Just like Patrick."

"So he's still a no-show?"

"Either he's scared of me or he's really shy."

"We need to get him out in the open. I can't break into his computers. But I think I can shut down the power grid. That would sabotage his whole company. Maybe force them to surface."

"We did that before because we had to. We don't need to do that again. Not yet."

"Course if he's planning something huge, better to nip it in the bud rather than let him make the first move."

"I'll think about it. Hold off for tonight."

8

Buffy went out to patrol. As she stood in the graveyard, waiting for the only new vampire of the night to rise, she heard footsteps from behind. She turned around and pulled out her stake. It was Kate.

"I see you're also packing," Kate said with smile. "I prefer something in a smaller caliber." She pulled out her own stake, which was thinner and shorter than Buffy's. "It's lighter and easier to conceal."

Buffy laughed. "So what brings you back?"

"I wanted to say goodbye before heading back to Sacramento. I know what Willow did to Warren. Don't worry. I'm not telling. No one I know would believe it anyway. And between you and me, I can't help but think Warren Mears got what he deserved. Willow seems like a good person. I'm sure she's punished herself enough already. Sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference justice and vengeance. I've walked that fine line a few times myself."

"I appreciate the attempted heart-to-heart, but right now I'm kind of busy, so if you don't have anything else - "

"I came here to tell you about Heindrick Hartog."

Buffy took a few seconds to let the shock sink in. "You've heard of him?"

"He's made a name for himself throughout the region. Evil used to be sucked into Sunnydale. Now it's being spit back out. A demon diaspora. The surrounding counties are being deluged with the undead. That's what my sources tell me."

"What sources?" "You think Sunnydale is the only town in the Golden State with vampires? I know a few demon fighters here and there. The two I trust from these parts are Billy Boyle in San Bernadino and Oleg Novotny in Mission Viejo. Boyle's a police captain who goes after them when he's off-duty. Considered a true innovator in the field. Applied 'broken windows' zero-tolerance police tactics to vampire hunting. Destroyed abandoned homes. Cleared out abandoned buildings. Denied them a place to hide during the day. Then at night he swept them off the streets. Nearly eradicated vampires from the whole county. But now they're back in force, and this time they're not so easy to pick off.

"Oleg came here a few years ago from the Czech Republic. Fought vampires in the old country. Some sort of family calling. Makes his living running a private security firm. Pretty intense guy. Vampires don't fear many human men. They fear Oleg. Now even he's got more than he can handle. Hartog's taught them to form herds. Vampires are harder to kill when they travel everywhere in groups of eight or ten."

"Odd how I haven't seen any of that around here," Buffy responded.

"No it's not. They're afraid of you. You make it very dangerous for a vampire to live in this town. Maybe you're too good. No one likes to fight someone they know will kill them." There was noise from beneath the dirt in front of the tombstone. "Mind if I take this one?," Kate asked.

"Show me what you got," Buffy responded. The vampire crawled out of the ground and rose to his feet. Kate stood about six feet in front of him. He growled and charged her. She moved out of the way, grabbed his left arm, and used his momentum to hurl him face-first into the front of a mausoleum. Then she staked him in the back. "Not bad," Buffy told her.

"Thanks. I'm not much for brawling. Quick and clean or I call for backup. That's my motto. Take care Buffy."

"You too Kate," Buffy replied with a smile. "Nice to know I have at least one friend in law enforcement."

By Tuesday, Buffy had run out of patience. She had saved this town plenty of times before. So she didn't feel real bad about inconveniencing people for an hour or two. Willow went to work. She ran through the steps which worked before. This time they were unsuccessful. Evidently they had put up new defenses. Willow tried to find a new way in.

Her actions had not gone unnoticed by Hartog's computer engineers. "Girl wants at us bad," Lenny concluded.

"She just won't take no for an answer," Charles joked.

"Can she make it in?," David asked. "I know we did the defenses tight, but can she hack it?"

"Maybe in an hour if she's as good as she thinks she is," Charles answered. "But she'll time out after 20 minutes."

Hartog popped his head in. "What's all the excitement? Something wrong?"

"That Willow chick's trying to bring down the electric," Lenny explained.

"Why don't you just kill her?, Charles asked.

"Because she can't hurt us. She can't, right? I remember landing that contract for upgrading the Sunnydale Gas & Electric computer network. Pretty lucrative deal. And you guys were supposed to set it up good, do a bang-up professional job."

"We did," David responded.

"Then you've taken care of that. Now I'll take care of the rest."

"Cool," Charles said. "How bout we send Willow something to let her know we're watching. Maybe the message Jeff sent didn't get her attention."

Hartog walked down the hall. Douglas joined him. "You're not really gonna through with it?," Douglas asked Hartog.

"I have to give her something. She needs contact."

"Why would you take that risk?"

"Don't worry. I planned for this all along. There's no way I can lose."

Willow's plan didn't work. Her computer crashed. Someone deluged it with and absurdly large volume of porno email attachments which opened on their own. Willow realized it was the nerds who worked for Hartog, the ones who blocked her when she tried to hack into his system. And now she knew all of them by name. They were brazen enough to send her emails which both complimented her ability and taunted her for failing. Buffy headed out for another night of patrolling. One vampire killed. After two more hours of walking around, she decided to call it a night.

"I know it's late, but if you're up for it." It was Hartog's voice. Buffy turned and saw him walking across the grass towards her. "We can always do this another night."

"Took you long enough to show your face."

"I had a lot of things to take care of before you killed me." It was the first time Buffy had ever heard a vampire sound self-effacing. This definitely undercut all the taunts she was planning to use.

"While you're at it, here's one more thing you can take care of. Why did you kill Jennifer Holcomb? What was special about her?"

"You got it backwards. Jenny sired me. We had a thing the previous fall. I broke it off before it got too serious. After she got bit, she still wanted me back. Then you killed her. I should thank you. Saved me the trouble of breaking up with her a second time. Any more questions before you kill me?"

"Is this some sort of reverse psychology psych-out?"

"I respect your track record. I know you're tougher than you look. Then again, so am I."

"That's not much of an achievement."

"I'm as strong as any vampire who got sired at half my age. You may not know that, since I doubt you've fought many of my vintage. For some reason vamps fall neatly within the 18 to 34 demo. And they never grow up. A 200 year-old vampire who was sired at 25 still thinks like a 25 year-old. But you already know that. A life of feeding and fornicating doesn't exactly foster maturity."

"I'd love to here your Vampire 101 lecture, but it's getting late, and you're getting lame."

"Wrong. I'm just getting interesting."

"You're just getting dead." Buffy punched his face with a left and a right. She tried a kick. He ducked. Hartog threw a right. Buffy grabbed his arm and kicked him twice in the stomach. He threw a left. Buffy ducked. Then she hit his chin with the right roundhouse kick. Hartog took a few steps back.

"This must be the part where you kill me," Hartog said as he approached Buffy and put his fists up. He reached out with his right hand, grabbed her crucifix, and ripped it off her neck. He held the silver cross in his hand. He put it up to his lips and kissed it. Then he dropped the cross into his mouth and swallowed it. While Buffy was understandably shocked, Hartog hit her in the face with a right hook, knocking her back about ten feet. "Told you I was interesting. It doesn't hurt if you don't believe. You fight evil. I'm beyond good and evil."

Patience was one virtue Spike had never possessed. No way he was going to cool his heels until Friday. Three days was all he could stand. He knew where Buffy would be, and he went out to find her.

Buffy regained her composure. So this Hartog guy found a way to keep crosses from hurting him. That didn't make it any more difficult to kill him. He threw a right jab. Buffy blocked it and landed a left cross, a right uppercut and a right kick to the stomach. She tried a left kick to the face, but Hartog blocked this. She connected with a flying right spin kick to the face. Hartog retreated. Buffy landed a left hook. Hartog tried to stand his ground. He grabbed Buffy. She head-butted him in the nose. Then she kicked him in the jaw. He finally landed a right hook. Buffy retaliated with a left-right combination. She kicked him in the ribs. Then she threw a left hook. He blocked it with both his hands. She took her stake in her right hand and thrust it home for the kill.

But it didn't go in. She tried again. "What's the matter?," Hartog taunted. "Your point not sharp enough?" She tried a third stab, and heard a metallic thud. Hartog twisted her left arm back with his right arm. He punched her twice in the face with his left fist. Then he picked her up and tossed Buffy into the air. She landed on her back about 15 feet in front of him. He leaped to her and put his left foot on her chest.

Spike heard Hartog's and Buffy's voices. He heard the thuds and cracks of a fight. He raced to the scene.

On the soles of Hartog's boots were sharpened steel spikes about one inch in length. He pressed his left foot on Buffy's chest, right on top of her heart. She felt the points digging into her flesh. She grabbed his left leg with both arms, but that caused him to press down harder. She couldn't dislodge his foot, but she dig pull it up a fraction of an inch, relieving some of the crushing pressure on her sternum. "Never planned for this ending, did you Buffy? He raised his right leg off the ground. For a fraction of a second, all his weight was on his left foot, causing the points go down even deeper. Then he brought his right foot down on her neck for the fatal blow.

It never arrived. But Spike did. He leaped at Hartog and tackled him to the ground. Hartog punched Spike in the face and pushed him away. Both of them got up. "Saving the Slayer? How the mighty have fallen." Hartog threw a right spin kick which caught Spike flush on his right pectoral. The spikes on the front half of Hartog's right sole went all the way into Spike's chest. He fell backwards. "Are you just jealous because I'm doing what you couldn't?" He didn't expect the kick to hurt so damn much. He thought it was because he was out of practice. He hadn't fought a vampire for more than five weeks.

Hartog raised his left boot. He brought it down on Spike's face. A non-lethal but exquisitely painful and delightfully disfiguring injury from Hartog's point-of-view. Then he would be free to finish off Buffy. Before he could land the blow, Buffy swept Hartog's right leg out from under him. He fell on his back. She closed in, which was a huge mistake. He stuck out his left leg and kicked her in the stomach. Buffy backed up in pain. Hartog vaulted to his feet. Buffy charged him, but he knocked her on her back with a right cross. As he walked over to her, Spike crawled towards him. He grabbed Hartog's right foot and twisted it back 90 degrees, breaking his ankle.

"Now you really are lame," Buffy taunted. Hartog limped away into the night. He never expected to kill Buffy this quickly and easily. He just wanted to frighten and intimidate her. And he believed he had succeeded.

Lying on his back, Spike turned his head to the right to look at Buffy. "What can I say? I couldn't wait." She crawled over, fell on top of Spike, and kissed him passionately. They put their arms around each other. Spike's waiting was over. He finally felt whole again. Buffy remembered why she loved him. But after about 30 seconds of euphoric smooching, they're clothes had become sufficiently saturated to make both of them realize what was happening.

"You're bleeding," they said to each other simultaneously as Buffy sat up.

"No Spike, I pretty sure it's you."

"No it's you. Look at your shirt."

"Look at yours."

Spike did. "I think that's from you."

"No it's not. I can see it. Can't you feel it?," she pointed to the gushing wound.

"You're right. I'm bleeding rather badly. But so are you."

She looked down. "I guess I am. But you're much worse. We need to get you to a hospital." Buffy stood up.

"It's not that bad." He tried to get up, but couldn't. "Just give me a second. Really, I'm fine. It's superficial." Buffy knelt down and touched his face, running her finger through his hair. He caressed her cheek with his right hand. Their hands were covered in blood, but they didn't notice. "Never dreamed it would be this good," he joked.

She smiled and kissed him again. He put his left hand on the back of her neck and head. After about 15 seconds she pulled back. "I love you. I just wish we could have a date that didn't end in grievous bodily harm."

"How bout tomorrow night?," Spike asked before chuckling.

Buffy laughed. "We could stay in. Watch a movie. Lick our wounds. Well, not literally, of course." She stood up.

"I think I'm about ready to try that myself." He couldn't quite do it on his own. Buffy grabbed his arms and helped Spike to his feet. She put her right arm around his waist to support him. He put his left arm over her shoulder. They started to walk away. "Thanks love. That's what we are, right?"

"Of course. Why else would we put up with each other?" Buffy started to bend forward because of the pain caused by her stomach wound.

"I'm getting confused," Spike said as he reached out is right hand to grab her left hand to help support her. "I thought you were propping me up." They continued walking.

"My guess is, one of us lets go, we both fall down. Let's get back to your place."

"Buffy, while nothing would make me happier, I don't think either of us is in any sort of condition to — "

"No Spike. So we can get bandaged up. See how bad you're hurt."

"Of course. Silly me. We better hurry, before the vampires smell our blood and swarm in like sharks for the kill." He started trying to walk faster.

"I could carry you."

"No. I'll walk," Spike replied. "So this guy's full of surprises."

"He was wearing some sort of metal plate in front of his heart. Kept me from staking him."

"Never met a vamp who wore body armor."

"And he ripped off my cross, put it in his mouth and swallowed it."

"Definitely never met a vamp who could do that. And for good reason. It's impossible."

"He said it doesn't hurt if you don't believe you're evil. Something about being beyond good and evil."

"Never imagined Nietschze could be that powerful." They got back to Spike's building and went upstairs. Both of them took their shirts off, since they were soaked through with blood. "There's some bandages and stuff at the bottom of the closet," Spike told Buffy. "Learned pretty soon after becoming human that I don't heal like I used to." He grabbed a bottle of peroxide, sat down in a kitchen chair, and as about to pour it on his wounds.

"Spike, stop!," Buffy grabbed the bottle. "You're supposed to dilute this."

"Oh. You mean it's not supposed to feel like burning bloody murder?"

"Is this what you use to dye your hair?"

Spike feigned indignation. "I don't dye my hair." Buffy smirked. "Look who's talking," he riposted. She took a wet cloth and wiped away the blood. She could see the dozens of puncture wounds in Spike's chest. "He spiked you. No fair. I'm the one who's supposed to do the punning. You should be all right. Just make sure you get some rest. And no fights to the death for a couple days." She smiled and kissed him.

"Rest would be good. I'm quite light-headed. Probably from the loss of blood. And really thirsty. For juice. You know, one of the non-blood-based beverages." Buffy cleaned up and bandaged her own wounds. Her punctures were more numerous but less deep than Spike's. Spike put on enough gauze to cover his injuries, staggered over to the couch, and lied down on his back. Buffy walked over to him. "So this is what it feels like to be in love," he told her sarcastically.

"It doesn't have to be this painful."

"Thing is, I look at you right now, and I don't feel any pain." He grabbed Buffy and pulled her on top of him. They were both naked from the waist up except for the bandages, and forgot about their wounds when they start groping each other's flesh and locking lips. After about 20 seconds the pressing together of their bodies reminded them of their wounds. "Ow, ow," Spike grimaced.

"Ow," Buffy responded. "There's the pain." She got off of him. "Maybe we should hold off on that for now." They were both breathing heavily and took a few seconds to cool down. "I can stay, if you want."

"No. You should go home."

"Are you sure you'll be okay by yourself? I wouldn't mind looking after you."

"I'll be fine. The nurse fantasy doesn't do much for me. Go."

"They're probably worried where I've been." She looked down at herself. "I'll need something to wear." She went into his bedroom and came back out wearing one his red button-down shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Spike laughed. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Keep it. Looks better on you than it ever did on me. I got five or six more just like it."

Before leaving Buffy looked at herself in the mirror . The absurdity finally hit home. When she got over the initial hilarity, she realized that she kind of liked the look. It reminded her how much Spike had changed, how much she had changed him. "Not bad. Not bad at all."


End file.
